The One Alias
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: The use of L's real name in a government document lead him to reconnecting with the older siblings he once left behind and possibly a real identity. The emergence of Kira, however, would threaten that carefully built foundation and so much more.
1. Part 1

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities

**Author's Note: **This story was written for DN Contest at LiveJournal for the prompt "Joy." This is also the foundation of my own background story for L and I will gradually expand and add onto this. Just a note this story and other fics of mine give L an actual first name as I have my own theories on his given name versus his canonocal "true name" and will be happy to share the link to the journal that has these.

Any comments, no matter how long or short, are highly encouraged and appreciated and really help me with my writing.

**March 5, 2000**

**London**

L had turned the piece of paper over in his hand to the point where the edges were frayed and the ink slightly bled from his perspiration.

He sat back in his chair in an attempt to relax, though the knot in his stomach wouldn't go away that easily. L looked at the phone, the line untraceable but lacking its usual voice filters; a rare necessity considering the number on the paper.

It was like facing a kind of monster that had been locked away for the past fourteen years, though it's head surfaced again in an email box he regularly kept an eye on though a subject line that tore at his insides the moment he read it.

The mail box was where he received notifications of some mention of a past alias used for an important case. A few simple hacks would set a trigger to tell him what name was used in what database so he could keep an eye on anything going on behind his back.

The name Liam Lawliet was one name with a permanent trigger in strategic databases

It was a name L hadn't used since 1987; a name few people knew and no one save for Watari should have connected with L. It was his true first alias; his given name, though it was just as fake to him as all the other names he had ever taken.

The name Liam Lawliet should only have been known by a handful of locals and long- retired public officials in and around the city of Leduc, Alberta and only connected to the six-year-old key witness in a murder investigation.

Liam Lawliet was the supposedly mentally handicapped youngest child of a small-time drug dealer beaten to death by a gang of irate clients. Liam Lawliet was the poor little boy who found the dead bodies of his father and soon-to-be stepmother in the dusty grass outside the family's trailer where his older brother and sister were still sleeping.

Keeping track of this one name was vital lest it be connected where it shouldn't and one afternoon he found an email in that special box; subject line "Liam Lawliet."

A few key punches later hw would learn that the trigger that had been activated was planted in the Children and Youth Services database for the province of Alberta, the most likely place where the name would be mentioned by parties of interest. It was a government database that was one of the easiest to hack; nothing in there involved national security and firewalls, while strong, were not as iron-clad.

It only took L an hour to crack into the system and find the exact entry that activated the trigger. Finding it was easy; wrapping his brain around it was a little harder.

The activation had been the electronic submission of a request for Liam Lawliet's adoption records. The applicant was Sharona Lawliet-Sayers of Calgary.

L turned the number over in his hand again, remembering a nine-year-old gymnast who always kept her long, black hair in a ponytail. It was the most vivid memory he had of his older sister.

L had resisted the urge to simply ignore the application. It had been submitted two years ago and thanks to the usual government red tape had only now made it this far. Those adoption records were buried in a file cabinet somewhere in Edmonton and any confirmation that the transfer of custody had taken place with The Wammy's House was locked away in a highly secured vault in Winchester.

Under any other circumstances, Sharona's request would have faded into obscurity and even if she did hire attorneys or private investigators, there was no way she was going to find the individual she wanted through any channels. If the individual wanted to be found, however, that could lead to different circumstances.

As much as he wanted to ignore the document, it lived in the back of his mind; a perpetual unanswered question. He had no family, he was a forgotten orphan who achieved greatness; all realities he was content to live with but now such was not the case. Now his comfortable existence had been ripped into and the reality of his past was now peering through.

He idly did a few background checks on the applicant to see if this was indeed who he thought it was and all checked out.

Sharona Lawliet was nine when her father died and moved from foster home to foster home for the next eight years, sometimes being in the same home with their 11-year-old brother Alonzo. That shuffle ended when she joined the Army at 17, spending three of her four years in the service in Japan and training as a medical assistant. She received an honorable discharge in 1998 and was now living in Calgary with her husband David Sayers and doing graduate studies at the University of Alberta.

The one piece of information that truly terrified L now was the phone number that still seemed to stare at him.

He was a few punched numbers away from opening Pandora's Box, or from having a final peace.

L bit the tip of his thumb hard, now aware he was shaking. His hand crept toward the phone a few times, but always drew back. At last he gave a heaving sigh and shoved aside all apprehension; he needed to do this.

He looked away from the phone as he snatched up the receiver by the top. At last he looked down at the numbers on the paper and jabbed them down on the keypad.

One shrill ring followed, then another. Maybe no one would pick up. Another ring, voicemail would probably activate soon but he still had no idea how he was going to say this.

The ringing stopped with a dull click.

"Hello?" a man's voice said on the other end, likely David Sayers.

L tried to speak, but it took a moment for him to find his voice.

"C-could I speak with Sharona please," he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Sure just a minute," the voice said. L heard the phone placed on a hard surface and the man calling for Sharona, his final confirmation.

A set of footsteps were heard in the background. L took a breath, ready to talk to her as another individual he encountered in the course of his duties.

"Hello?" a woman's voice said on the other end.

"Is this Sharona Lawliet," L said, his façade rapidly cracking.

"That would be me," the voice said taking a strained tone, her pronounced prairie accent triggering so many memories.

"Hello, Sharona," L said, knowing he should just get it all out there. "This is Liam, your brother."

He heard a small gasp from the other end.

"Liam?" she said, her voice a bit weaker. "Liam Lawliet? That's you?"

"I have all the paperwork and identification to confirm that," L said, knowing exactly where said paperwork was located. "I have been doing my own small record search and a clerk at Children's Services let me sneak a peek at your application."

The sound of suppressed sobs could be heard on the other end. L also felt an increased tightness in his throat, though he did his best to relax it. Pandora's Box had just opened, though maybe that one speck of hope was the only thing coming out.

"Well, Liam Lawliet," Sharona said, finding the strength in her voice though it still wavered, "tell me one thing. That summer when you were five, what did the McCafferty sisters across the street like to do to you?"

One of the lightest chuckles L ever had escaped him, the memory now vivid.

"They used to drag me over to their porch, Megan would hold me down and Tricia would try to French braid my hair," L said, recalling that being the only curse of having long hair as a child. Dad never thought the boys should be forced to get haircuts though Alonzo always found someone in the neighborhood who would.

Sharona's loud laugh sounded over the phone.

"And who would always rescue you?" Sharona said.

"Alonzo," L said, "you would always watch it and laugh, and I do recall a camera was involved once."

Sharona practically cackled on the other end, though L could hear sobs through that laughter. This continued for several more seconds, the sobs becoming a bit more apparent.

"Oh God after all this time," Sharona said, trying to force the sob from her voice. "It's really you, little brother! It's really you!"

"Yes, it's me," L said, a warmth forming at the pit of his stomach like he had never felt. "It feels good to be found."

"We've got so much catching up to do," Sharona said.

* * *

**March 19, 2000**

**Edmonton, Alberta**

The non-emergency entrance of Royal Alexandria Hospital was actually a sight of childhood joy to L, one place just a few blocks from the airport that he knew would be on his way.

He stood on the corner and gazed at the automatic double doors open for an elderly woman with a cane and what looked like her daughter helping her in.

A gust of frigid wind brought his gloved hands to further wrap his black leather jacket further around his slim form. He ducked his chin and mouth under the collar, his breath forming a wet film of condensation around the thin goatee he had grown over the last week.

Normally he was nearly a fanatic about completely clean shaven; even if he spent days watching surveillance footage he would have an electric razor beside his chair. This situation, however, warranted a more pronounced change in his appearance.

Two weeks ago, after a nearly hour-long conversation with Sharona, arrangements were made for the two to meet in person at a location in Edmonton; the same weekend when Alonzo had already planned to travel from Toronto for some time with his sister and away from his own family.

L considered himself in deep undercover mode for this gathering. Technically he was playing himself, or who he should have been by "normal" definition, though the biggest difference between this and any other type of cover he ever had was a bit more care to put up a front. Liam Lawliet was still just another name even in this scenario.

A family reunion did likely mean photographs that would be connected with his given name. On the surface this was a potential problem, but if he made slight changes to his appearance beforehand he could have plausible deniability the person in the photo was him. His hair was also sloppily pulled back in a ponytail and he wore a loose button-down shirt over his usually preferred white long-sleeved t, mostly to give him layers against the lingering March chill.

The double doors opened again and two women walked out, L clearly saw pink and green scrubs under the collars of their thick coats.

When he was five-years-old, he would see this entrance once a month; dad herding three kids while walking through the double doors balanced on his own cane and coming to the hospital for his monthly physical therapy session.

In 1984 he broke his leg badly in a motorcycle accident. He, however, would be carried off fully conscious. The kids' mom was not as lucky.

Alonzo and Sharona were vocal about how they couldn't stand the sight of him on crutches, didn't even want to look at him. Liam said nothing about the matter at all either a sign of his age, shyness, or the high suspicion he was autistic and lived in his own world anyway.

Dad had a talk with them, persuading them to join him for one of his therapy sessions to show them the healing side of what had happened, that and there would be ice cream involved afterward.

L remembered dead silence in the car on that first family trip from Leduc to Edmonton, though the return trip was all smiles and child's laughter.

For the next five months, all three of them would pile in dad's ancient Subaru, ride to Edmonton, and spend the half hour of dad's physical therapy session playing with the toys in the waiting room; or Alonzo and Sharona standing with a look of awe watching little Liam put together a Rubik's cube in two minutes or a 300 piece puzzle in ten.

L looked across the street at a row of storefronts, seeing sheets of real estate listings posted in one familiar window, blocking the view of simple desks and chairs. That space used to have counters, tables, and a full ice cream bar; the final stop before the ride home. He had annihilated many an ice cream cone while sitting in a booth with dad and his siblings around him having their own frozen joy.

He turned his head and walked away from both these landmarks, turning onto 109th Street and walking straight down. Sharona said she and Alonzo would meet him at a restaurant called Belle du Monde on Jasper Avenue, just a mile down from his current location. It was a mile he had to fully prepare for this and get as much of his thoughts together on everything that seemed to be coming at him at once.

It was only now he realized he had actually thought of his father as something beside the bloodied corpse that haunted his nightmares. L had maintained hope that walking outside and making that discovery would give any six-year-old some form of traumatic amnesia about the whole mess, but it didn't.

Matters weren't helped at all by a few fleeting comments made by a few constables on the scene who were not aware the victim's three kids were in a cruiser a few meters away:

"We've been trying to put away this lowlife for years. Never got enough evidence though, guess his clients did it for us."

Sharona and Alonzo were too distracted by their own sobbing to hear it, but Liam heard everything, including the stiff reprimand Inspector Harrison gave both of them.

Inspector Harrison did treat each of them like his own kids. L would never forget that sincere smile behind that thick moustache and his calm tone of voice with three children who had been put through hell.

In the end, little Liam was hailed by the police for providing clues that lead to the arrest of his father's murderers. Within minutes of the last interview, he whisked away by the province practically buried in what was essentially a mental institution. His salvation would come a year later in the form of a representative for an institution for "gifted children" in England.

Liam Lawliet simply went to Wammy's House and simply vanished from the face of the earth and L preferred it that way, though now Liam Lawliet was back in his old world; though the world that would ultimately shape him to who he would become.

His father was a small time pot dealer, the best way he could make a living after his last layoff from the oil refinery. He never deserved what he got and his son would make sure anyone else who pried apart a family like this would get their justice.

One police interview with a supposedly autistic little boy sent five degenerates to rot in prison, though that little boy would never know any satisfaction no matter how many more he would send away in the years to come.

L momentarily stopped in his tracks, pulling his thick jacket around him and letting the wave of realization hit; it was just a game to him now, solving a series of grand puzzles. His naïve sense of justice had waned, though not out of bitterness but contentment.

It had been fourteen years since dad's death, and twelve since a little boy in an orphanage would put together a complicated phone system to talk to the Winchester Police about a series of bombings.

He was taken out of Alberta as a seven-year-old boy, and thirteen years later he was back as a twenty-year-old man; not for business but to return to his roots, reunite with his only family members, complete the circle at last.

L continued down the street, a smile behind the collar of his jacket; he had just made peace with something.

* * *

Alonzo's navy blue jacket suddenly blocked the almost unblinking gaze she had on the sidewalk for the past five minutes.

Sharona took a deep draw from her cigarette, her blue eyes shooting daggers at her older brother as he walked out of her way and onto the sidewalk with his phone to his ear.

"If the Robitussin isn't helping, then maybe you should take her to the doctor again and tell him he gave some bad advice," Alonzo said over the phone and Sharona knew he was talking to his wife. "Has her cough broken up? Oh good because I was not happy with how that had sounded. Kasey's not getting sick too, is she? Good, just tell her to be careful around her sister."

This conversation was like nails on a chalkboard to Sharona. She looked back up the street then down at her watch; 2:30 p.m. and Liam said he would meet them around 2. She took another hasty drag, her other hand nervously flipping her long, black ponytail.

"He is flying in from England, delays always happen," she heard Alonzo say, not even realizing his phone conversation had ended. Sharona looked up to see him put the phone in his pocket and sit down next to her on the metal bench. "I'm sure British Airways has a hotline or something, maybe we could call and see if there were delays at Heathrow, maybe somewhere else."

Sharona allowed this idea calm her a little. She nodded, though it was clear the idea did little to comfort her.

"You're scared to death aren't you," Alonzo said, taking off his oval glasses and rubbing the fog off with his black shirt.

Sharona nodded.

"I'm also scared that conversation was a dream," she said, "or a prank. He didn't give a number to reach him, no email address, nothing."

"Also keep in mind who we're talking about," Alonzo said, putting his glasses back on and leaning in further. "They suspected him of being autistic then; no one knows what he's like now."

"No one ever said he was autistic, Alonzo," Sharona said impatiently, taking another draw and flicking an ash aside. "He was different, yes, but he was a frigging smart little kid; beyond smart. Everyone else just didn't get it and said there must have been something wrong with him, and I know that includes us too."

"I'm just saying be prepared for anything with Liam," Alonzo replied. "What happened with dad's death couldn't have helped and he might actually be more insulated now than he was when he was a kid, maybe he's worse."

Sharona sat back, biting her lower lip and examining the cigarette in her hand.

"Look, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt," Alonzo said. "He's my little brother too and I want more than anything to see him. But I have to stay realistic about these things; it's just my own coping mechanism."

"And my coping mechanism is believing in him until I see otherwise, but even then it's meaningless; I just want to see him."

Alonzo looked to the ground and sighed, a silence following.

"I want more than anything to see him again, Sharona," he said, rubbing his temples before running both hands through his neatly trimmed black hair. "It just tears a hole in me to know I haven't seen my little brother since I was 11."

"But you're not going to hold too much hope and be completely let down," Sharona replied, taking one last draw before snuffing the butt out on the lower leg of the bench and throwing it underneath.

She looked at her brother, seeing him give a slow nod with a grimace. She gave him a pat on the shoulder before rising from the chair in one motion, eyes going down the street for a moment before doing an immediate double-take.

One young man walked up Jasper Avenue, hands shoved into the pockets of a baggy leather jacket and head down practically to his chest. Strands of thick black hair tumbled from a messy ponytail, though Sharona could see sharply pointed features.

The hair and the goatee were the features the caught her eye the most combined with that thin, pale face; Liam had grown to be the spitting image of dad. This was not a dream nor was it a false hope.

Sharona carefully walked in his direction, her sneakers now taking a small run against the pavement as she dodged other passers by.

The young man could sense someone running toward him, though kept his head down and readied himself for any actions he would have to take next.

L finally looked up, seeing a black ponytail flying against the breeze framing a soft, yet determined face. He had seen that face in a younger form so many times, though now she was an adult; 24 now if he recalled correctly though those same beaming blue eyes were aimed at him.

He stood to the side of the sidewalk out of the way of the usual pedestrian traffic and watched his sister take a swift walk toward him. A man closely followed her, his glasses with a smaller frame than he remembered and hair likely cut by a stylist and not the next door neighbor. Alonzo had put on a little bit of weight, but then all of them were in different circumstances anyway.

Looks of clear recognition were on both faces; Sharona looked near tears and Alonzo was simply in a surprised awe. L didn't know what look was on his own face; he didn't even want to know but felt his mouth open slightly.

Sharona grew nearer, gradually slowing her pace and approaching him with an attempt at calm.

"Liam," she said, finding some strength in her voice."

L smiled and found himself nodding in recognition of a name he never thought he would use again.

"Sharona," he replied, realizing his own voice was cracking.

All of Sharona's calm and sudden decorum collapse with the strong arms thrown around his body.

She pulled him in tight, face digging into his shoulder. L's momentary surprise soon wore off. His own thin arms carefully wrapped around his sister; the sister he had practically forgotten about in the past fourteen years.

He felt his embrace tighten around her, his cheek rubbing against her black hair as he savored her warmth, felt her shaking. He felt his own throat tighten and allowed himself a few breathy sobs. This didn't seem real, or maybe it was too real; like Liam Lawliet had woken up from a long dream, though L wouldn't go that far to describe it.

"Liam, oh God Liam," Sharona said, voice locked in tight sob; savoring at last her lost brother's embrace. Fourteen years, a childhood of emptiness, and an adulthood of making peace with everything had all come to a joyful fruition.

Sharona gradually pulled back, her hands clutching both sides of his neck as she gave him wet kisses on both cheeks. A chuckle escaped him as his mouth formed into a beaming grin as his sister ran a hand through his hair.

Alonzo gradually walked forward, his steps labored as he looked at his brother in that same expression of awe. Sharona moved aside, though kept one arm around L's waist while Alonzo brought his posture up with a warm smile.

"Welcome home, little brother," Alonzo said, extending his hand.

L tentatively took it and Alonzo gave him a warm handshake before decorum broke for him as well. Alonzo threw his other arm around his brother's back and the two were in their own loose embrace.

"It's good to be back," L said, felling his own long-lost prairie accent pushing at the surface.

--

The greetings and the sobs would gradually break and the three would go into Belle du Monde like three average adults, taking one booth in the corner as their own space for the conversations they needed to have.

Alonzo brought a long a steady supply of photos from his wedding five years ago and of his twin four-year-old daughters Kasey and Amanda during the various stages of their lives.

Sharona had only a few photos of her husband Dave, but plenty of stories from the Army and the three years she spent in Japan. She had seen their maternal grandmother's old family home in Ayabe and even met a few of their distant cousins.

L simply listened to all of it, casually taking a sideways version of his usual seated crouch across one seat and looked more like a casual young man this way. He would sip coffee, take a few bites from his tiramisu, and soak it all in like he always did.

He could produce a few stories when pressed, telling them he never finished high school and instead taught himself in treks across Europe and Asia; stories with some half truths yet something to keep conversation going.

Alonzo rolled his eyes but listened intently when Sharona and Liam started a conversation in Japanese, eventually piping in with "you know some of us are lucky to even speak French."

He wouldn't understand the significance of "Liam-kun" and "Sharona-chan" changing to "Liam-sensei" and "Sharona-sensei" by the end of the evening.

L would learn that Alonzo was a high school music teacher in Toronto, Sharona was a lab assistant studying forensic pathology. The horrific events of fourteen years ago apparently inspired another Lawliet's career choice. L simply said he was a freelance IT consultant.

The conversations continued into the early dinner hour, Sharona saying she needed to take Liam to a bar for his ceremonial, if not belated 18th birthday drink. Alonzo said he wanted to excuse himself in that case, bluntly telling his brother he had some problems with that sort of thing in the past.

Sharona would not let him go until she produced her digital camera and handed it to a waiter.

L simply smiled as the three got up from their booth and posed right where they stood. Sharona was in the middle with her arms around her brother's waists and face in a beaming grin. Alonzo gave his own calm, yet wide smile.

Sharona saw the shy, uncomfortable smile on Liam's face and pinched his side, producing a smile that was a bit wider, a bit more confident as he fully basked in such a simple moment.

* * *

**March 21, 2000**

**Winchester, England**

"I need you to keep this information on file," L said, handing a few sheets of paper to Watari, sitting back in his usual chair and sipping a cup of tea. His head slightly spun from the long flight, though he was at the hyper point of exhausted.

Watari looked down at the names and all contact information of Alonzo Lawliet and Sharona Lawliet-Sayers with a nod.

"If anything permanent should happen to me, I want them contacted," L continued, rubbing his chin which was now thankfully smooth.

"That sounds reasonable," Watari said. "Sensitive details smoothed over in that case, I assume?"

"Yes, and all the usual plans in place aside from this, ultimately they need to be included though only regarding Liam Lawliet and nothing else," L replied, taking a light sip. "And I do wish to make some arrangements for them should the worst happens, the exact amounts and details can be worked out later."

"I have also set up that post office box in London you requested," Watari said. "How regularly would you like it checked?"

"Once every two weeks should be sufficient," he replied, eyes trailing down to his latest case file.

L looked up, seeing a smile on Watari's face as he looked down at him. L knew where this was going.

"So you've become a family man at last," Watari said. "So will you be the card at Christmas type uncle or will it be like you never left?"

L sunk his fork into a piece of chocolate cake on his table, drawing little circles in the frosting as he mulled that one over.

"I've faced some demons, Watari," L said, "and I know I have a family of some form and that gives me immense happiness. However I'm not that person, I don't think I've ever been. They have their lives, I have mine and it is best if that is maintained."

Watari simply smiled and nodded approvingly, a gesture that went deep for L.

His family was right here as well as across the ocean; both families still making him who he was.


	2. Part 2

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 2**

**December 24, 2003**

**Calgary**

"So you're basically saying these weren't normal heart attacks."

Sharona already recognized the projective voice as it traveled in the hallway; Insp. David Mann of the Homicide division of Calgary Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

She turned the knob on the microscope, letting the slide come even more into focus for this planned presentation.

The rubber soles of Dr. Danielle Randal's work sneakers padded across the linoleum hallway closer to the lab, yet the coroner, Sharona's usual supervisor, said nothing. Despite the plain appearance, Dr. Randal had some flair for the dramatic or at least liked to set up a scene for the cops.

At last the double doors opened with a whoosh. Sharona looked up from the eyepiece and stood up to greet the coroner and her four guests in their respective suits with lanyards around their necks for their police passes.

Mann's pudgy face and graying beard was a familiar sight as was the blue business suit and stylishly short hair of Insp. Alice Liu, Mann's colleague in Homicide. A short man in a gray suit, Insp. Richard Harrington of the Organized Crime task force of the Calgary Police Service, made up the city contingent.

She didn't recognize the young man with the crew cut and the stiff posture of a new cop. If he was CPS, this was an equal opportunity case; if he was RCMP, the Mounties were officially taking over.

"This is Sharona Lawliet, one of our senior lab technicians," Randal said in a somewhat flustered tone. "You already know Inspectors Liu, Mann, and Harrington."

All named parties gave nods of familiar greeting.

"Also this is…" Randal said, motioning a hand to the fourth guest.

He showed his badge, the brass laurels surrounding a buffalo head with a banner around the bottom reading "Royal Canadian Mounted Police" answering her questions before he even opened his mouth.

"Insp. Michael Hall, Calgary RCMP, Organized Crime," the fourth visitor said in an official tone that was supposed to sound impressive.

Sharona nodded in greeting, though Randal was keeping the introductions short.

"As I was just saying, the cause of death for Boris and Uri Yanovich and Miguel Ramirez will officially be listed as cardiac arrest," Randal said, taking off her large-framed glasses and wiping off her forehead with the sleeve of her clean lab coat. "All three of them displayed signs of myocardial infarction brought on by coronary thrombosis."

"In other words a traditional heart attack," Liu said. "Though you said these three cases were atypical."

"I dissected the coronary arteries of each, noticing there was a slight difference in texture of the arterial walls than is typically seen in atherosclerosis," Randal said. "One thing to keep in mind; Boris Yanovich was 73-years-old and displayed signs of advanced atherosclerosis and it was clear he had undergone bypass surgery within the past ten years. I took this into account, though the texture of his coronary artery was still different. Ms. Lawliet, you tell them the rest."

"I thoroughly examined the tissue samples harvested from all three victims during their autopsies, comparing them to a few other samples we had on file," Sharona said, adjusting the microscope and getting up from the chair.

She then flipped a switch on the side of a projector, showing the slide on a screen mounted on the desk.

"This is a cross-section of the coronary wall of a 75-year-old man who died of cardiac arrest brought on by a blocked coronary artery," she said, taking a laser pointer from her pocket and turning it on to let the red dot on the screen illustrate her points. "If you look closely you will see the heavy plaque deposits on the side of the wall. This is what caused the constriction that lead to a textbook heart attack."

She looked back at the police inspectors, seeing them looking intently, some nodding their heads.

"Take a good look at that," she said. "She then removed the slide from the microscope and put on another slide. "Now this is the arterial tissue taken from Boris Yanovich."

Sharona wondered how many of them would silently applaud seeing the internal tissue of an infamous patriarch of a Russian mob cell. He was already in a cooler in the next room, though maybe seeing this might prolong the victory dance.

Ever since this whole "Kira" mess began, it lived in the back of her mind of how many of her police colleagues silently supported the idea of a silent vigilante killer. It was a possibility that made her more than a little uneasy.

"The same plaque build-up can be seen in this slide, though notice anything else?" Sharona said.

The four inspectors carefully examined the slide, and then Mann raised his hand.

"The tissue near the middle looks whiter, a bit more striated almost," he said.

"Exactly," Sharona said, motioning her laser pointer to the screen while adjusting the microscope to zoom in a little more. "The difference is even more noticeable under increased magnification. It's subtle, though every test I've run says the same thing. This clot was caused by a build-up of scar tissue."

"He already has a bypass, couldn't that be a side effect of it?" Hall said.

"This is not a typical occurrence in bypass patients," Sharona said, shaking her head.

"We've talked to six cardiologists from hospitals in Calgary, Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal, and Seattle," Randal said. "None of them have ever seen anything like this before in any bypass patients…or even any patients at all."

"This build-up of scar tissue created an irreversible clot that would have been fatal within seconds after it was fully formed," Sharona said. "Now let me show you something else."

She took the slide off and put on another. The tissue shown on the screen was slightly pinker, though she could see all four noticed something familiar.

"This is a sample taken from Uri Yanovich, a 38-year-old man with an otherwise healthy circulatory system," Sharona said. "As you know, Uri Yanovich was Boris Yanovich's grandson, so family history could be considered."

It didn't need to be reiterated that Boris and Uri Yanovich, along with Uri's cousin and fellow fugitive underboss Vladimir Desny, died within seconds of each other in a downtown bar.

Autopsies performed on the Yanovich's indicated the same time of death, though the police report was a little more revealing.

A bartender named Murray Wallace told the CPS he was cleaning the bar while the three were having a casual conversation in Russian over vodka shots. He suddenly heard gasps and looked over to see all three clutching their chests and dropping at practically the same time.

Desny was scheduled for autopsy soon, though the Medical Examiner's Office had been busier than usual. The date being Christmas Eve also played a factor; Sharona was one of the few "dedicated" technicians who didn't hold fast to her initial holiday plans.

"Uri Yanovich had an athletic physique and displayed no signs of atherosclerosis," Sharona continued. "Look carefully at the area of the blockage. See something familiar?"

Sharona zoomed in again, looking back to see the faces of some of the inspectors slightly blanch.

"If you guessed that same build-up of scar tissue, though would be correct; the exact same thickness and the exact same cell composition," Sharona said. She then took the slide off and put on another. "Now to give you the full perspective, this is a sample taken from Miguel Ramirez, a 22-year-old with no known personal or family history of cardiac issues."

The late Mr. Ramirez was a known gang leader and the prime suspect in six shootings in the past year. He had been arrested once, though his baby face and quick tongue kept him out of jail.

The inspectors knew what to look for now. All four faces were grave when Sharona zoomed in on the slide.

"Subtle yet fatal build-up of scar tissue in the artery walls, fatal within seconds," Sharona said.

"I think it goes without saying that heart attacks of this nature are astronomically rare," Randal said. "There are three other cadavers whose autopsies will be completed by at least the 28th, including Vladimir Desny, Danny Walker, and Mark Chin and all have been indicated as having the exact same symptoms before they died."

Chin was another gang leader, a rival to Ramirez who dropped dead outside a club on 17th Street the day after his rival.

Danny Walker was a meth freak who did package runs for both sides to feed his habit. He was a quiet sidekick for the longest while until he and Chin were named as prime suspects in the murder of a prostitute. Walker died in the back of a Police Service cruiser right after being arrested.

"I assume you're going to take Mr. Walker's known drug addiction into consideration," Liu said.

"No question," Randal said. "Though to be frank, I would be happy if that's what actually killed him. Ms. Lawliet, tell the nice inspectors about your friend in Japan."

All eyes turned to her at the same time.

"After the autopsies and analyses were completed, I contacted an old acquaintance of mine from my army days," Sharona said. "Dr. Hiro Fujitsu works in the Ministry of Health, Labour, and Welfare and provided me with some photos of several similar tissue samples taken from sudden heart attack victims in the cities of Tokyo, Kobe, and Kyoto."

Sharona reached into her lab coat and took out a white envelope, opening it to reveal several photos of similar slides.

"The same type of tissue pattern," Mann said with a heavy sigh. "All of these photos came from suspected Kira victims?"

"Well there has yet to be any official designation for these sudden heart attacks," Sharona said, a subtle reminder that several powers-that-be were did not want to give this a collective name. "However, Japan's Ministry of Health has officially placed a 10-day hold on the public release of autopsy records and coroner's reports of victims of these sudden heart attacks. Dr. Fujitsu managed to slide these out just under this issuance."

"Probably long enough so the Almighty Letter can paw over them," Mann muttered.

Sharona gave a calm grimace with a nod while Randal visibly rolled her eyes; L was an uncomfortable subject in all investigative branches. Odds were the mysterious being known by a letter would be going over the records they kept, though that was up to the police and the province to decide; those in the Medical Examiner's office just did the dirty work.

That was if L even existed.

"Regardless, at worst case scenario we are talking about three potential Kira victims right here in Calgary," Harrington said. "Possibly three more."

"That all is subject to final analysis," Hall said.

The rest nodded their heads, though Sharona saw some measure of fear on all their faces. She was thinking the same thing they were; there had to be a less daunting explanation.

"I will include Dr. Fujitsu's contact information in the record," Sharona said. "He does speak passable English, though I am sure the Consulate would provide a third-party translator."

Her three years at the Canadian Embassy in Tokyo was an ace up her sleeve in this situation. It meant she had a few contacts in the government and could get easy information, or at least leads on some details of the "Kira" killings. The rest was being managed by the National Police Agency behind closed doors, she at least knew that much.

All four inspectors gave uneasy nods.

"We will let you know when the other autopsies are completed or when we receive any other information," Randal said.

"Well, I think we have what we need here," Liu said. "Thank you both for your efforts. And a Merry Christmas to you as well."

The three others muttered the same sentiment as they all filed toward the door, Randal and Sharona muttering their own well-wishes.

Insp. Mann lingered behind the rest of the group.

"Inspector," Sharona said.

Mann turned around and walked forward, with Sharona motioning for him to come closer.

He walked over. A few of the inspectors gave glances back and paused for a moment, though he motioned for them to continue onward as he walked back to Sharona.

Sharona looked over; making sure no one else was in earshot except her and Dr. Randal.

"You probably are not supposed to answer this, though I thought I would ask anyway just for the sake of our sanity," Sharona said

"Let's hear what it is before I can answer anything," Mann said.

"Do you know if L involved in these particular cases at all," Sharona said.

Dr. Randal stepped a little closer, putting her shaggy white hair back behind her ears with a look of curiosity visible on her face.

Mann nodded; his expression communicating the question was inevitable. In Sharona's mind he should have known it was going to come up among the civilian investigators; they would want to know if they were being watched by a third party.

"I will say truthfully and to the best of my knowledge that I am unaware of any involvement L might have on these particular cases," Mann said. "That includes anything from working with personnel to accessing files. And that is not the answer I was told to give but the only answer I have."

Sharona and Dr. Randal nodded, giving each other knowing glances. It was a satisfying answer for now, though likely not the only one out there.

"Have you or any of your immediate colleagues ever worked with L," Sharona asked, her curiosity a little higher. "There are message boards flooded with alleged insiders who say Mr. or Ms. Mysterious Detective has worked with police around the world. Does that include anyone around here?"

Mann paused for a moment, looking up in thought. Either he was scanning his memory banks or trying to come up with a diplomatic way to shut her up.

"I can also safely say I have never personally encountered L in any form," Mann said. "However the name has been twittered a few times, like some sort of law enforcement urban legend; one of those everyone-knows-someone things, but no one names any names. When this whole thing erupted in the media, we've been hearing a few more stories about how so-and-so worked with L for this case or something a million years ago. As usual no one confirms anything. The one common story is that you work with L; you work with a voice over a computer. That's it."

"That's a little disturbing," Randal said. "Very Big Brother-ish."

"Well, I've dealt with armchair detectives before," Mann said. "No one of that scope, but PI's who refuse to leave the house either make us come over to get information or phone it in. If you want my opinion, I think they're all pains in the asses."

"Maybe L is just a brilliant stoner," Sharona said with a chuckle, prompting laughs from the others and somewhat breaking the tension. "Well if he or she can actually get to the bottom of this, who cares."

Mann nodded and slowly turned around.

"Thank you for your insight, inspector," Sharona said.

"If you'll excuse me I've got a mother-in-law to keep from killing," Mann said, turning back around. "Merry Christmas, ladies."

The two women returned the greetings as Mann walked away and went through the double-doors.

"So do you think anything we say or do in this case is being watched by L," Randal said.

Sharona shrugged.

"As creepy as the idea is, all this stuff becomes public record eventually so anyone can paw over it," Sharona said. "And if L's involvement is the decision of the police, I trust their judgment. Though like I said, if 'Kira' is an actual individual or group and L helps with their apprehension, then I would be glad for his or her involvement."

Dr. Randal nodded; looking like she felt the same way.

"Sharona I have to say I definitely appreciate all the effort you've put in at this short notice," Dr. Randal said. "This week has been hell in a handbasket and I know you had plans with your family you had to call off."

"What, spend the holiday in Toronto listening to my sister-in-law yammer and my brother talk about his new basement recording studio," Sharona said. "I wouldn't want to miss something this big for the world. Besides we've made arrangements around New Years and Christmas is an overrated holiday anyway."

"I hear you, Mark and I are just doing presents and sandwiches," Dr. Randal said. "Regardless, I want you to go home for the next day get some drinking done. Just be here all the earlier the next day, we've got a few more cold ones to cut up."

"Yes, ma'am," Sharona replied, watching the coroner walk out the room.

"Hopefully Kira will at least wait until after Boxing Day to kill any more people in our jurisdiction," Dr. Randal said before the doors closed behind her.


	3. Part 3

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 3**

**December 25, 2003**

**Calgary**

The original plan was to sleep in ridiculously late. The number of margaritas Sharona toasted with a troupe of friends the night before at the greasy taqueria a few blocks from her apartment building was supposed to guarantee that.

The shrill, piercing ring of the phone through her brain put an end to that along with two sweet, twin voices singing "Here Comes Santa Claus."

Her nieces had a thing for singing together on special occasions; if anyone in the family was having a birthday or on any holiday, those two similar sounding voices could be heard giving a little song.

It was like their own little revue, but then Sharona remembered her and Alonzo doing the same thing then they were kids. Mom and dad would always listen enthusiastically; Liam would just look at them uncomfortably like a typical, hard-to-amuse little boy.

Kasey and Amanda probably thanked her for their new Barbie computer dress-up game three times before Sharona actually looked at a clock to see it was a little past noon. She had bought it online a few days ago, right when she canceled her plans to go to Toronto, and it miraculously arrived at their house just in time for Christmas.

She didn't care at this point what time the phone actually rang as the hangover blocked most of that out until now. The voices were keeping her awake enough to at least sit up in bed and avoid the pull of the warm blankets.

"Have you ever eaten a duck, Auntie Sharona," one voice said. Sharona actually recognized it as Kasey's; it was a little less giggly.

Speaking of which, Amanda was now giggling in the background and making quacking noises.

"Duck is very yummy," she said, trying to maintain that as-cool-as-a-seven-year-old dialogue. "Why are mommy and daddy cooking one for Christmas?"

"Yeah, it's in the oven," the second voice piped in, the first one squeezing in a brief "stop it" as the receiver was taken from her hand. "Mommy squeezed some meat juice on it. Does it taste like chicken?"

"It kind of does, but even better," Sharona said, another wave of stabbing pain going through her head though she held her grunt. "Try a little; I think you'll like it."

"I'll like it, Amanda doesn't like anything," Kasey said, probably squeezing the phone from her sister's hand.

Sharona could hear Alonzo in the background herding the kids away.

"Daddy says we need to put away our toys now," Kasey said.

"Cleaning is good," Sharona said. "Now could you put me on with daddy?"

One of them called for their father and footsteps were heard in the background.

"Merry Christmas, Auntie Sharona," both girls said in unison before the line went quiet again.

Sharona sat up a little straighter in bed, managing to throw her legs over the other side.

A male voice became louder on the other end as Alonzo probably wrestled the phone from their hands. Little footsteps ran away, followed by an adult female voice in the background reprimanding them in some inaudible way; probably Alonzo's wife Margaret.

"Merry Christmas," Alonzo said.

"Merry Christmas to you too, big brother," Sharona replied.

"The girls probably said it numerous times, but I just can't thank you enough for the little package we found in the mail yesterday," he said. "They've been playing with that all morning; we needed to pry them away for breakfast."

"It was the least I could do," Sharona said, feeling a little more awake though still in need of aspirin and nicotine. "I still feel bad about not joining you guys."

"Don't worry about it; we're on for New Year's regardless. Besides the holidays doesn't mean everyone has to stop dying."

"That does make me feel a little better when you put it that way."

"So, I have to ask," Alonzo said, some crackling over the line indicating he was moving to another location. His softer tone told Sharona exactly what he was going to ask.

"Ask all you want, doesn't mean I can tell you anything," she said.

"Oh I know that, but I just have to anyway," Alonzo said. "Those three Russian mobsters they found dead at that bar, you didn't work on them did you?"

"I…am not at liberty to confirm or deny the identities of any potential subjects," Sharona said, keeping her tone somewhat coy. "I can tell you that the province has added extra security measures and sent memos essentially telling us to keep our lips even more sealed regarding cases. Does that answer any of your questions?"

"Sufficiently, thank you," Alonzo said with a small laugh.

"And what made you ask?"

"There was a report on CTV this morning, followed by another on these three gangbangers also in your neck of the woods. Their regular broadcaster, you know that blonde who always dresses like a Playmate."

"Shannon Reed-Marshall," Sharona said rolling her eyes. "Dr. Randal has had to push her skinny ass away on numerous occasions in the past three years."

"That would be the one. She pretty much said this morning all of them are suspected Kira victims."

Sharona took a few deep breaths to calm down a little. The term "Kira" just made her blood run cold.

"Well it is a free country and she is entitled to go along with the bandwagon if she wants," Sharona said. "I can tell you that officially that the RCMP issued a nationwide memo saying the term 'Kira' is not to be used in any official, investigative, or public information capacity. In their wisdom, 'Kira' is an internet rumor that generated in Japan with no official bearing. Any death considered unexplained or mysterious is just that."

"I can understand that," Alonzo said. "I can see the Mounties being respectful about this matter, though I see a hundred FBI agents toasting to having three less Russian mobsters to find. Though to be frank I can't imagine the CPS and the RCMP aren't the slightest bit relieved either for three less hooligans."

This really scraped her the wrong way.

"You're a few sentences away from sounding like one of those 'Savior Kira' crazies," she said.

"Yes Sharona I'm posting prayers in chatrooms when I'm standing on a street corner with signs," Alonzo said with an uncomfortable laugh. "No, those 'Kira worshipers' are freaky cultists in my book. But, I personally think it begs the question how many people won't be gunned down and how many less drugs will go to school kids with these six in question taken off the market. From what I've heard, we are talking about some hardened criminals."

"And when did you get your criminology degree," Sharona said, the time for politeness was over.

Alonzo sighed a little over the phone, probably realizing he was broaching this subject with the wrong person. Then again every member of the Lawliet family was stubborn as hell especially when it came to his or her own opinion.

"I know you get a better view of the goings on of crime everyday, though I also get a view of my city, the kids I am raising in this city, and the kids in this city who come to my class every day." Alonzo said. Sharona refrained from reminding him that he taught at a school in a predominantly upper middle-class neighborhood. "It is probably not my place to say anything and as awful as this is going to sound, I can't help but think maybe all of us are better off without certain people."

Sharona lowered the phone for a minute and gave a hard grimace at the ceiling before putting the receiver back to her ear. She couldn't help but sigh over the phone.

"Look, I'm not saying that, if this is indeed the work of one or a syndicate of individuals, that they shouldn't be caught," Alonzo said, his tone communicating he was backpedaling a lot. "Murder is murder and murderers need to be brought to justice."

He didn't say it, but he didn't need to; both of them had intimate experience with matters like this.

"And murderers, even vigilantes, can cross the line between killing for a cause and just plain killing," Sharona said, her tone clearly strained. "If this 'Kira' exists, what will stop him, her, or them from bumping off police, witnesses? Though what about reformed convicts, or possibly petty criminals trying to feed their families?"

That last statement was meant to hit home a little more; hit like a sledgehammer though hit nonetheless. Alonzo's own pause and his heavy sigh indicated he got the message.

"Like I said, I don't support vigilantism and yes such 'good intentions' are subject to an interpretation one person or one group of people shouldn't have," Alonzo said, audibly covering himself. "I'm thinking more philosophically, or perhaps maybe my real point is the system is in need of reform. I do believe out country is better than most at maintaining justice. Hell I strongly support the RCMP; I do believe they are the greatest police force in the world. However, no system is perfect."

"The system is not perfect, though that doesn't mean improvements are not being worked on," Sharona said.

"I completely agree with you," Alonzo said.

"Look, Alonzo, can we get off this subject. Quite frankly the whole thing gives me the creeps."

"I really don't blame you, it is a spooky topic," Alonzo said, an air of finality in his voice. "So, on a more pleasant note, do you have any plans for today?"

Sharona gradually sat back against the pillow, her head pounding a little less.

"A nice Thai lunch with a few of my girlfriends in a few hours," Sharona said, just smelling the Pad Thai she suddenly developed a craving for. "Later on tonight we're going to watch 'Ms. Claus and her Eight Rainbow Reindeer,' one of the biggest drag reviews in town."

"Ho ho ho, well good to hear you won't be alone on Christmas," Alonzo said. "What about, what's his name…"

"Jim? I don't know what he's doing, but then we're not exclusive enough to care. Speaking of which I told Dave I'd call him later on."

It was so nice to be able to refer to her ex-husband as just another guy-friend. Judging by Alonzo's chuckle he was probably thinking the same thing.

"Speaking of Christmas phone calls, did you get an email from Liam?" Alonzo said. "The version I got said he was calling at 5."

"My version says he's calling at 6:30," Sharona said. "Said something about getting a call from a client at the last minute."

"Though he still managed to pencil us in, how thoughtful," Alonzo said.

Sharona took the comment for what it was worth. Their somewhat quirky little brother was another bone of contention for the longest while; Sharona was a dedicated soldier for him while Alonzo was a skeptical observer. They had since come to a truce on the subject.

All the Lawliet siblings had not had the easiest lives, though Liam likely had the worst. In the end Liam was a 20-something bachelor and successful professional. He had his own life across the ocean and his own concerns besides two bickering siblings he still barely knew.

Liam had been a little more in contact in recent months, making a few more calls and a couple more visits. Fighting over him would only scare him off, a reality of which his older siblings paid heed.

"Well, you can't keep shit from happening on the holidays, we all know that," Sharona said.

"Here here," Alonzo said.

Sharona could hear Margaret's voice in the background and Alonzo call that he would be there soon.

"I do believe that warning Mags gave about her parents showing up was not a drill," Alonzo said with a sigh. "I'm going to have to get going, sorry about cutting this off."

"Nah don't worry about it," Sharona said, perking up at the thought of getting her coffee and cigarette at last.

"Look, call us before you leave for Toronto so we can work out all the arrangements," Alonzo said.

"Will do, Merry Christmas big brother."

"Merry Christmas, squirt," Alonzo said before hanging up the phone.

Sharona put the cordless phone back on its charger and looked at the clock again.

12:45, no time to go back to sleep but plenty of time to wake up. She slowly peeled herself from the bed, stretching her legs to get upright.

She then stretched and walked to the kitchen.

---------

It was 6:25 according to the clock on the corner of her computer screen.

Sharona looked over at the TV to see little Ralphie Parker beating the ever loving crap out of the bully with the coonskin cap…Scott Farkus, Scut Vargas, something like that. She thought to Google it but the thought slipped her mind the moment it came in.

This was probably the third time she had seen "A Christmas Story" played on some channel in the past month. It was on a few websites there was a cable channel in the States playing it for 24 hours over Christmas.

Right now it was background noise, a distraction. So was her idle websurfing, though the only thing on her laptop screen she was paying any attention to was the clock.

6:27…two minutes since the last time she checked.

Somewhere in London her brother was hopefully about to pick up the phone; though she hoped he would do it sooner rather than later. A pair of high boots already waited on the couch as did a little box wrapped in gold paper for a certain someone who she and her girlfriends managed to persuade into coming to a cheesy drag show.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea a couple hours ago at the restaurant; the next thing she knew she was on the phone with "Librarian Jim," as everyone had taken to call him, talking him into joining them. At the pace they had been going, she hoped she wouldn't be in her own bed by the end of the night.

All she needed now was Liam to finally call so she could catch up with her little brother and finally be on her merry way.

6:28, but then Liam could be either on time to the exact second or annoyingly late.

Sharona took a breath, checking her email again. A friend of hers from her class sent her an e-card with a buff, cartoon Santa Claus doing a striptease. She let out a loud laugh that she really needed.

The cursor was over the link to the card site when a shrill ring went through the apartment. Sharona jumped for a moment in surprise before leaning over the armrest of the sofa and grabbing the phone, pushing the "talk" button while silently thanking Liam for being reliable this time.

"Hello," she said.

"_Kurisumasu Omedeto, ane,_" a familiar voice said over the phone, a holiday greeting for his "older sister."

"_Kurisumasu Omedeto, otouto,_" Sharona replied in turn to her "younger brother." Sharona and Liam had taken to using Japanese with each other interchangeably. It was a shared knowledge and experience, though Sharona personally preferred to think of it as their own secret code. "Let me guess, it is probably past midnight where you are and you are hopefully sitting in your apartment like a proper lazy ass and watching Christmas movies or still on a jobsite somewhere, though my money is on that you just got home."

"You should have put money down sooner on that," Liam replied. "I just got off a rather long and strenuous job that took essentially the entire day. After getting off the phone with you I am going to have my Christmas dinner and pass out."

"Pity, the huge trifle and the mound of cookies will have to wait until after I'm done with you," Sharona said.

"Oh you think you know me too well," Liam said with a calm chuckle. "In fact I have a large ham sandwich waiting for me in the ice box."

"And you might actually eat it, weird."

Sharona had already parked on his case numerous times to cut down on the sweets. Every time he visited, any doughnuts, cookies, or pastries in anyone's cupboards would mysteriously disappear while his plate of barbecued chicken or pasta at dinner would be picked at. He always seemed to stay almost unhealthily skinny.

Alonzo liked to make snide comments about how he managed to do this, though Sharona just needed to mention dad.

All of them remembered dad would always be eating something when he was home while he had a collection of McDonald's wrappers in the front seat of the car. His friends would still call him "Rodent" because of how rat-skinny he was. This was, however, during happier times; after mom died they rarely saw him eating anything.

Liam clearly inhabited his metabolism, though Sharona had a feeling his inheritance would run out when he hit his mid 30's.

Regardless, he was a 24-year-old man; he wasn't a little kid in need of constant guidance. Sharona had to remind herself of that almost constantly.

"Regardless, I am finally sitting down in a seat without a computer waiting for me," he said. "My call to Alonzo was essentially done between entering code."

"Jesus. It must be something big if they're grinding you this hard on Christmas."

"Well it was a simple matter that had to become overly complicated. This rather old credit union that shall remain nameless had a 2003 system with 1993 security software. Their managers seemed rather surprised when the 200 different viruses that built up in their system over several years suddenly decided to make themselves known."

"Let me guess, it was run by Ebenezer Scrooge's colleagues from the 1870's?"

"In so many words. A complete mess; it took myself and two other contractors about 14 hours to put the system back together."

Sharona laughed; this sounded too familiar.

"My, my, aren't you the dedicated little worker," she said.

"It apparently runs in the family," Liam said. "I obviously got your email from the other day; a pity about having to cancel your plans like that."

"Yeah I wasn't too amused about it myself, though I have been told I might get a little extra from the province for essentially coming in voluntarily. I don't know if Alonzo told you this, but I'm going to their house for New Year's."

"Alonzo did mention it, he also couldn't stop going on about that adorable little Barbie game you got for the girls." Sharona bit her lip, though Liam put her at ease before she had a chance to say anything. "And no, he was not rubbing in how they have such a dedicated aunt. He heartily thanked me for the cards I sent as well."

"With a $50 in each like you do every year," Sharona said.

That was another fact that made her exceedingly proud of Liam; he was a freelance IT consultant with a clear business savvy and acumen for numbers. He wasn't just scraping up money for food and the occasional toy like many men his age were doing; he was making and saving enough to give himself a very comfortable life.

From what Sharona understood, he lived modestly, not even owning a car, though could afford to travel and give small gifts like that. He also once said he kept a business lawyer on retainer to help with his contracts and represent his interests.

"My idea of taking care of children is spoiling them from afar," Liam said.

"It's so much fun, shower them with presents and leave them for their mommy and daddy to deal with."

Liam chuckled a little over the line and a small pause followed. Sharona had an odd idea of where this was leading to.

"I know you did not specifically give any details in your email, though Alonzo at least has the thought that your plans were interrupted by several sudden deaths in your jurisdiction," Liam said.

Sharona gave a profound eyeroll. Damn Alonzo.

"I know you are probably not at liberty to give any details so I won't push you for any," he said.

Thankfully Liam was showing a lot more restraint; but then such was his way for good or ill. Not directly going at a subject didn't mean he wasn't circling it and diving in when no one was looking. Sharona was a fan of bluntness and Alonzo tended to be passive-aggressive; Liam however could be downright sneaky, devious almost. He knew how to work an angle and subtly push buttons and Sharona knew to be aware of this.

"You are absolutely right about that," Sharona said. "Did Alonzo tell you anything more?"

"Something about it was reported, however rightly or wrongly, that six people suddenly died in Calgary and are suspected victims of this phenomenon being called 'Kira,'" he said.

"Like I told Alonzo…"

"…According to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police there is no Kira."

"Correct. I have to agree with their standing, these rumors spread like wildfire over the internet."

"And saying all these deaths worldwide were caused by one individual or group would incite panic, possibly lead to a witch-hunt. I think the RCMP is taking a very intelligent stance on this."

Now Sharona's curiosity was burning.

"Have you been keeping up at all with this 'Kira' thing," she asked.

"As much as anyone, I suppose," Liam said. I'm not much of an enthusiast of news media, though in my job daily news feeds are endless and this story is everywhere. I will admit I did look up that now-infamous Japanese broadcast on NHN's website."

"Oh Jesus, they showed that one at a staff meeting the next day. I swear I have seen some seriously disturbing stuff in the time I've been here, but that gave me nightmares for a week."

"I agree, that went beyond simple police procedure and was a living horror movie," Liam said.

"Do you think that might have been staged?" Sharona said. "I mean think about it, they have this clearly American individual call out Kira on what was supposedly a strictly Kanto broadcast and drop dead within a minute just before the mysterious L makes a grand appearance."

"You're thinking it was like a _War of the Worlds_-type stunt," Liam said. "Though the media reported that the man, Lind L. Tailor I believe the name was, was confirmed dead? So are you saying there is some government or police force that fabricated that report?"

Sharona chuckled, the idea did sound pretty silly.

"I'm sure this whole thing is just shoveling feed into the troths of all the conspiracy theorists," she said. "Mysterious mass killings, Kira versus L, it sounds like it was cooked up by some horror writer somewhere and played out on stage by someone. It is almost too bizarre to be real."

"Though you're on the front lines so to speak, a forensic investigator…"

"Now, now, I know exactly what you're getting at," Sharona said.

She only then realized her tone sounded a little more defensive than it should have; if she hadn't been involved in a supposed Kira case she might have had a different reaction. She played right into his hand.

"I'm sorry; perhaps I was being a little too obvious," Liam said.

She could have changed the subject, though for some reason she didn't want to. Sharona wasn't aloud to give any details on the case, though what was in the media was already the basics.

"No it's fine," she said. "I will only tell you what you can easily look up in any newspaper or broadcast. Six cadavers that came through at the same time on the 23rd have been confirmed or it has been indicated they suffered from sudden cardiac arrest. I cannot give you any specific details due to the ongoing investigation and as far as Kira is concerned…"

"…Kira does not officially exist and these were simply sudden heart attacks," Liam said.

"Exactly," Sharona said.

"Sharona, I will advise one thing," Liam said.

Sharona tapped her finger against the computer desk; where the hell was he going with this?

"I know Kira does not officially exist and very well could be some kind of hoax, rumor, or misunderstanding," Liam continued. "However if there is some sort of vigilante killer or group of killers involved with this, I think it would be best if you and your fellow investigators kept a low profile in regards to this case. I mean not attaching your names to any findings too publicly. No one knows really knows if Kira will start targeting those investigating them or if they will keep strictly to their cause."

Sharona was pleasantly surprised by this, or perhaps found it refreshing after her talk with Alonzo. Then again there could have been so many different meanings behind this little advisement.

Liam, however, always seemed to have a fascination with detectives since he was a little kid; this type of deductive speech should have been expected.

"In so many words you're telling me to watch my ass," she said. "I definitely appreciate the concern and believe me no one wants to get on anyone's shitlist. Though I have to ask, what do you think of Kira?"

"If Kira exists, he, generally speaking, is a plain murderer who needs to be brought to justice."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Sharona said with a heaving sigh that also told too much.

"You sound relieved by that," Liam said.

"Well I am," she said. "_Oniisan_ had a bit of a different opinion."

"Oh?"

"He said he agrees whoever this is should be caught, however he essentially said Kira might be doing society a favor."

"That really doesn't surprise me. Alonzo does have a different perspective than we do; he's a father and a teacher who lives in relatively safe, suburban surroundings. I can see how such experience can lead to such a mindset."

Damn him for being logical.

"It still pisses me off," Sharona said.

"For that I do not blame you at all," Liam said. "You're the one behind the front lines every day while he has the privilege of observing from afar. Then again the three of us do have some experience in such matters and it clearly has formed us in different ways."

Sharona couldn't help but smile a little. What happened to dad was a taboo topic of conversation between her and Alonzo, yet the idea of bringing up the slightest hint around Liam was plain unnerving.

Liam was the one with the most intimate experience of the whole tragedy and, despite how much Sharona defended Liam's mental state; even she was unaware of how deep that hurt ran.

The way he carefully, yet calmly discussed it in this type of a conversation could have shown he was not as destroyed as they all thought. Then again people had a good way of hiding their true emotions and Liam probably made an art form of that.

"Though it makes the disagreement that much more rocky," she said.

"Absolutely," Liam said. "Just try to avoid the topic around him; you know what answer you'll get."

"Now I have another question for you; what are your thoughts on L, the mysterious detective," Sharona said, emphasizing "mysterious" in a comically spooky tone.

"I don't have any personally," he said. "Whoever it is obviously wanted to make their presence known. As you said earlier it is interesting that an invisible force known only as a name like Kira is now being challenged by another invisible force also only known by a name; and not even a name, a letter. This doesn't mean it was scripted, but it does mean someone is trying to match the similarities."

"Though I think what bothers me the most is 'L' used a human life as bait," Sharona said. "I don't care if he was a condemned criminal under whatever nation, that was still a human sacrifice just to get L's point across, and on national TV."

"I do not condone L's actions," Liam said. "I supposed the logic would be to trap Kira in his own game, though, as you said, the method was rather barbaric. Effective, but nonetheless."

"Execution is barbaric no matter how it's carried out and I'm happy to live in a country that doesn't use capital punishment. Extreme measures may have been needed to trap a covert murderer, however I personally would rather have seen something different done than seeing a man die in television."

"I think such will be the moral debate for decades if not centuries to come."

"That's ultimately what it comes down to."

"Regardless, if the efforts of this 'L' lead to Kira's capture and the end of his killing, then perhaps L is a force of good after all. It is all a matter of how this plays out."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Sharona said, knowing she would walk away from this conversation satisfied. "Now let's get off this topic."

"It isn't the most pleasant one," Liam said with a sheepish chuckle.

"Do you have any contracts waiting after New Years? Or rather how can I persuade you to chaperone me at Alonzo's house."

"Unfortunately I am booked up until June, a little thicker than usual so I may be a little more scarce for a while," Liam said.

"Oh that sucks," Sharona said, not hiding her disappointment. "And you've been spoiling us for the past few months."

"Well my load was rather light then, a good thing for my life but a bad thing for my wallet," Liam said. "Don't worry; I'm not disappearing entirely; just for a few more months."

"Is the pay good?"

"The pay is ridiculously good; I have some pretty high powered clients."

"Some that could give you a permanent job maybe?"

"Now why would I want one of those?"

Sharona had to chuckle a little; she was playing the worried big sister as usual.

"I am also slowly falling asleep as we speak, so I'm going to have to say 'Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and please don't kill Alonzo,'" Liam said.

"I'm going to need a lot of luck with that, though he's been on his better behavior lately," Sharona said. "I want you to get some sleep, _otouto_, and you drop me an email sometime."

"I definitely will," he said. "_Dewa mata, Sharona-sensei._"

"_Dewa mata, Liam-sensei_," Sharona said, hearing a light thump as the other end went quiet.

Sharona pushed the button on the phone and put it on the charger, eyes then going to the high heeled boots right next to her.

She looked at the clock on the phone. 7:00.

Liam had perfect timing; she thought as she grabbed the boots and got up from the couch.


	4. Part 4

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 4**

**December 28, 2000**

**Somewhere over the Atlantic**

_Usually the indication that a child has been playing in the living room book case is books left scattered over the floor or pushed back in end first, spine in, or just left to lie on the shelf. I was a special case of course.__  
_

_  
__I remember being four-years-old sitting on my own bed in the little cramped room I shared with my two siblings and hearing my father's footsteps in the common area of our trailer stop in front of the book case. He had to have passed that one case at least fifty times a day between getting up, getting ready for work, returning home, and the usual pacing of evening activities. __  
_

_  
__He must have been looking for something on the shelf because I remember hearing his footsteps stop at the small bookcase and instantly knowing he had noticed something. There was no fear with my father, I assure you; he was a gentle, but firm man. He would never raise a hand or even a voice to any of his children and to us a stiff talking-to was punishment enough and a time-out was reserved for the most severe of offenses. __  
_

_  
__Dad must have seen one book missing from the shelf where he kept his collection. He was an avid reader and had a deep interest in first editions and old books, though the average person looking at him would only see long hair, a baseball cap, and a biker jacket and take him for an illiterate thug. I think it was in this respect that he was my first teacher in how looks can be deceiving. _

_Dad was more the scrounger type when it came to his collection. He never had more than a few Canadian dollars on him to play with for himself, but his greatest treasures were those ancient editions he could find for literally pennies. __  
_

_  
__He no doubt noticed one was missing from the shelf; the 1954 hardcover copy of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" with just as many notes and references aimed at high school students as there was text. I don't believe that was one of the most prized books in his collection; the 1876 Masonic Bible and the 1933 edition of "A Christmas Carol" were a little more valuable. I believe I saw him reading Sir Doyle's book once and putting it back, but then I believe that was before I even learned how to walk.__  
_

_  
__Still he no doubt noticed that book missing; that same book that I held open on my bed. __  
_

_  
__My mother had gotten back from her job as a server at the kitchenette down the street and a brief exchange between them and the sheer fact my brother and sister were either outside or studying at a friend's house lead the logical course to me.__  
_

_  
__I wasn't exactly surprised when dad entered my room and had already rehearsed how the speech would go in my head about how I should not be playing with his things. Instead he stopped, looked at me and my position over the book, and cocked an eyebrow. He crouched down to my eye level and the disappointed look was already on his face, tempered of course by my age.__  
_

_  
__"I hope you know that's not a toy," he said.__  
_

_  
__I just nodded. Children at my age should have been talkative, I was the exact opposite and it worried people; everyone but my father to be exact. That was a conversation I would overhear repeatedly between my parents; my mother always concerned by my lack of communication, my father simply saying I was a thinker.__  
_

_  
__"I'm reading," I said, or rather mumbled.__  
_

_  
__He gave a good-natured chuckle. Usually a moment like this between a father and his four-year-old son might be camera worthy or even good for some stories I could be embarrassed with as a teenager.__  
_

_  
__"You're reading?" he said, tone a bit lighter. _

_I could already tell he wanted to turn this into an educational moment. In any other situation this might result in a copy of any of Dr. Seuss' volumes under the Christmas tree with my name on it.__  
_

_  
__I simply nodded. I was telling the truth after all. He gradually came to his knees, the sleeves of his work jacket and his freshly washed yet perpetually oil stained hands folded on the bed in front of me.__  
_

_  
__"Well read a little to me," he said.__  
_

_  
__Such was naturally easier said than done. The act of reading out loud can be a daunting one to even adults let along four-year-old children. I took a breath, trying not to glance at the bemused expression on his face for fear it would break my concentration.__  
_

_  
__The tip of my finger dropped on a random paragraph spot. I followed the area to the beginning of the paragraph and started to read, sounding out the words more than three syllables long as my fingertip glided over the words. I tripped over a couple words out of nervousness and natural lack of skill. _

_One paragraph was an achievement; one side of a page was a miracle. I would read through five full pages, my concentration never leaving the words and my resolve iron-clad.__  
_

_  
__At last I looked up, the usual child-like hope that I made dad proud. At first his reaction made me want to cry.__  
_

_  
__His jaw hung open, lower lip trembling a little, those gray eyes fixed on me. __  
_

_  
__This disturbed me to the core. I slammed the book closed and drew back a little. His hands gently grabbed my shoulders and he kissed my cheek almost in apology.__  
_

_  
__"That was beautiful, Liam," he said, his voice a little breathy as if he was trying to dislodge it from his throat. "Very, very well done, kid."__  
_

_  
__That was all I remember from that one moment, maybe all I want myself to remember. I do remember that he did not take the book back to the shelf, though I do not recall reading the rest of it right away. I think I finished another story before turning my attention to some other activity; the usual focus of a small child. _

_I remembered seeing it still in my room for days before it finally disappeared and returned to that missing slot on the shelf.__  
_

_  
__A month passed and I decided I wanted to finish the book; there was something about the plot that intrigued me, something about Sherlock and Moriarty that fascinated me more than He-Man or G.I. Joe ever could. I of course know now what it was and I of course know now that I felt the pull of it even when I was that young. It was not a conscious feeling at that point; it was pure instinct, the first small spark that would later fully ignite.__  
_

_  
__I remember walking to the shelf and the book was not there. I simply shrugged at it then, a little disappointed but all the same.__  
_

_  
__A week after that it was Christmas morning. I believe I thought more about the bright packages under the small tree than I thought about an old book. I was four after all; I felt the sparse amount of presents and fought over the cookies on the coffee table with my siblings as anyone my age would.__  
_

_  
__I remember sitting on the floor and sorting through my collection of socks, pajamas, toys with the price tags carefully peeled off. That was when dad in his plaid flannel bathrobe casually reached under the tree for a package for my brother and tossing a larger present to me. __  
_

_  
__It was not the soft consistency of anything for a child; it fell on the carpet with a hard slap. The shape was oddly rectangular and oddly hard, though it was wrapped up neatly in Christmas lights wrapping with a green bow. __  
_

_  
__"To: Liam, from: Dad" was all the tag read.__  
_

_  
__I tore into the package, the wrapping paper flying into the rest of the pile and revealing something very familiar, but something that makes me smile every time I think on it.__  
_

_  
__I unwrapped the 1954 high school reader hardcover edition of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." The exact same one on the shelf, the same one I had read to my father; only now it was in a package with my name on it.__  
_

_  
__"Aww dad, why did you give him that," my nine-year-old brother said in one of the whiniest tones in the universe.__  
_

_  
__"Well your brother likes detectives and I thought I would give him a family heirloom," dad said.__  
_

_  
__I remember making eye contact with him, seeing a wink as I caressed the paper binding. I had seen this book every day of my life yet it would become the greatest gift I would ever receive.__  
_

_  
__Suffice to say I don't need to explain the full significance of that book, Mr. Wammy. You know all too well where that led.__  
_

_  
__That book was not the be all and end all, but it was a catalyst. It was also the grandest present I would receive on the last Christmas morning I would ever spend with my whole family. _

_The next year Christmas with mom's empty place was a little harder on all of us. _

_There was no Christmas the year after, there was no dad the year after and I will not reiterate the horrific circumstances. _

_Though maybe I should say Sir Doyle's characters might be what sharpened my gaze and lead to five men now serving life sentences of hard labor. That would be an all-too simplistic answer and I had other motivations and influences. _

_Even today I still would like to think that if dad lived I would still be solving cases though perhaps behind a brass badge and wearing a red uniform on formal occasions. Yes, like many Canadian boys, I wanted to be a Mountie when I grew up. _

_Realistically, however, I doubt I would have gotten past the initial testing stage required for entrance into the academy in Regina. No, I should say I could easily have passed the aptitude and physical tests; my hyperthyroidism not being a block by RCMP standards. My block, however, would be due to the infinite wisdom of a child psychologist in the employ of the province who put the word "Aspberger's syndrome" on my medical record. Even if I were able to talk around it, it would be a black mark and a perpetual bureaucratic headache._

_In the same respect there was no Christmas the year after. I refuse to call the plastic tree in the cafeteria and a dry turkey dinner of a now thankfully defunct provincial "center for children with special needs" a Christmas._

_To your credit, every Christmas I spent in Wammy's House was as warm and homelike as I could hope for. You spared no expense for presents for all the children and that lovely feast every year. Even Roger carving the turkey and bringing out the pie in that striped apron over his festive red sweater was an additional bit of cheer.__  
_

_  
__I am not writing you this to praise the decorum of Wammy's House during the holidays; I write this because I believe a circle has been completed.__  
_

_  
__As for Sir Doyle's book, all but my necessary possessions were lost amid a mass of bureaucratic catastrophe after my father's murder. I believe I forgot it even existed.__  
_

_  
__That was until yesterday. I know you will ask me how my first Christmas went with my brother and sister fifteen years after our childhoods were shattered though you will probably be asking more about my two "adorable" nieces. I will spare you the full details now though I will share one anecdote.__  
_

_  
__My now 24-year-old sister Sharona toasted me like a conquering hero, I was after all the lost sheep for fourteen years (though truth be told I was never theirs to find). Regardless, there was a long speech in front of the tree and a lot of uncomfortable shifting on my part. _

_Then history repeated itself again; she stepped out from behind my brother's audaciously decorated tree with a package that I knew what it was the moment I saw it. __  
_

_  
__The wrapping paper was gold this time and the ribbon an off white and silver. __  
_

_  
__"To: dearest Liam, From: your family" was written on the tag.__  
_

_  
__I opened it with a little more mature gusto, though you can imagine what I found. __  
_

_  
__Sharona told me she specifically asked a constable who went back into the crime scene we had for a house to find that book and the constable came through. She kept it with her through every move from foster home to foster home, keeping it in storage during her tour of duty in the army, and digging it out of the locker after our reunion this March.__  
_

_  
__I have it in my hands now and I will show it to you when I return to Winchester. __  
_

_  
__Watari, I will tell you now I have once again received the greatest gift I will ever receive; a simple item with so much history.__  
_

_  
__As I said, I will relate other stories when I return. That is all._

L pressed the "send" button, his eyes trailing out the window of the plane and gazed over the Atlantic. The plane would land at Heathrow in five hours and Watari would be waiting with the car.

He shut down the laptop and closed it, putting it back in its case and carefully tucking it under the seat. He then reached into the backpack beside it, feeling the paper cover and thick binding and gently pulling it out

A little mold had formed on the cover that had been wiped off, though it had been kept in relatively good condition. He caressed the binding before gently opening the cover and looking at the title page. A thin finger then slipped to the last pages, opening it to the back cover.

The crude pencil marks had faded as he had anticipated sixteen years ago, though a sensitive eye caught the impression into the back cover made by a child's clumsy handwriting.

The letters "L Lawliet" were written underneath the covers solely by touch as a flashlight would have woken up his siblings. He would mark every one of his books with that clumsy signature; it sounded more official than simply writing his first or his first and last names. In fact he introduced himself as that on a few occasions when he was a child.

He couldn't help but smile a little at the meaning of that mark in this book; the signature of who would become the world's most sought after detective in a copy of the world's most famous detective novel. It was his mark, his claim, his legacy.

L gently held the book and smiled, the back of his head resting against the seat as his eyes went back out into the horizon.

--------

Author's Note: There is nothing in canon specifying that L has either hyperthyroidism or Aspberger's syndrome; these are additions based on his character and inspired by a few other fan analyses.


	5. Part 5

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This kind of breaks form for this chapter, also there were some formatting issues that took out the "email addresses" I put on here.

**Part 5**

Date: 31/10/04 00:36 GMT

Subject: Salutations

To: (recipient list hidden)

From: "Liam"

Greetings,

I usually drop you a line on Halloween and would be remiss if I at least didn't do so now. Unfortunately this isn't to schedule the time when I will be giving you a phone call on my birthday as I do every year.

My workload has been especially heavy over the past month and in the past few weeks I have been wrapping up business with one company on a particularly involved system.

Unfortunately I am not going to be available today, but I should be available soon. I will send you another email within the next two weeks of when I will call, if not next week when this particular job is done and my schedule should be a bit more organized.

My apologies, a sincerely feel bad about how sparse my contact has been in general over the past year and I hope you understand.

Despite the work schedule, life has been well overall. I sincerely hope this email finds all of you also well.

I send my absolute love to all of you.

-Liam

---------

Date: 31/10/04 02:50 GMT

Subject: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

To: "Liam"

From: "Sharona Lawliet"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OTOUTO! *throws confetti and cake at you*

Awww that sucks you have to work so hard on your birthday. Little brother, you take your time getting back to us; we know you're really busy. Do something special for yourself, get some fancy cupcakes or something. Yes this is ME of all people encouraging more sugar ;) but you deserve it today.

Drop us a line when you want to chit chat we'll be in our usual places doing the same things we always do so you're not missing much.

Anyway *biiiiig hugs for the birthday boy* Take care of yourself, Liam-sensei! *throws in a big mushy kiss too*

Luv ya!

-Sharona-sensei

------

Date: 31/10/04 15:28 GMT

Subject: RE: Salutations

To: "Liam"

From: "Alonzo Lawliet"

Liam,

Happy birthday, kid; 25, the big quarter-century mark, my aren't we getting old.

There is no need to apologize. Life happens to all of us and not all of us have the same exact schedules. I understand you have been exceedingly busy lately and I can only hope that you haven't been running yourself too ragged; your first priority should be yourself, little brother. You take your time, do what you need to do, and get back to us when you have a moment.

Everything is well for us now; in fact we got some excellent news this week. Margaret was promoted at the bank; she's now vice-president of loans. We're all very excited about that and it was a little excuse for a couple's dinner at Bellini's to celebrate (it was a good excuse for the kids to have a movie night at the neighbors.)

Mid terms are in full swing and I'm writing this to you while grading papers for the kids in History of Instruments. The kids in my Music Theory classes have been scoring nice and high, I am such a proud music geek…I mean teacher.

Other than that life has been the same. It's my turn to take the girls trick-or-treating tonight (dare me to wear a costume? And no it's not so I cam blame Uncle Liam if it looks dorky).

Try to do something fun for yourself tonight.

Love,

Alonzo

----------

Date: 11/3/2004 12:54 AM

Subject: You're not going to believe this

To: "Alonzo"

From: "Sharona Lawliet"

Have you been watching the news tonight? I missed most of it but found this online:

Bush wins second term as US President (CBC News Webservice)

Jesus Christ I couldn't believe it, what the hell were the Americans thinking! Ah well, he stays the hell away from us I guess we're ok but it still gives me the creeps. *shivers*

How's Mags liking the cozy new office? I still say good for her, she's come a long way.

Really nothing new on my end this week, I'd say things have been dead around here but that would be horrible XD. But truthfully the usual summer surge is officially over (and there have been no mysterious heart attacks here since the beginning of the year).

BTW I think I know the answer to this, but have you gotten any other mail from Liam? I got the thing he sent to us on his birthday, was just wondering if he dropped you anything else that I haven't gotten yet. I have a feeling he is under a lot of pressure at whatever job he's at now; his mail sounded, IDK kinda tense. Naturally I'm a little worried about him, but that's me in typical big sister mode I guess *shrug*. His emails have been a little sparser than usual, like I think the last one I got was six months ago. But he did warn us he had a much more intense load.

Oh well, I'm sure it's none of my business.

Have fun with grading bro! :D

----------

Date: 11/3/04 7:26 PM

Subject: RE: You're not going to believe this

To: "Sharona"

From: "Alonzo Lawliet"

Hi Sharona,

I was watching CBC for the better part of the night for the US election results. I am not the fondest of President Bush myself so it was a disappointment. The optimistic response will be he will come to his senses about the "War on Terror" and the calamity in Iraq, though perhaps he has been given four more years to hang himself. I am just watching with guarded optimism I suppose.

Funny you mentioned the office, that was the first thing she raved about after coming home in Monday; she has her own little quiet office, it seems to be very relaxing. I am just so proud of her. That was the big reason why I stayed home with the girls for the first few years; Mags was already on track with her financial career, I was still just a bedwetting grad student. I can't tell you how happy I am to see her succeed like this.

I am very glad to hear things are going well at work. I wish I could say the same as I still have a mound of papers to grade.

As for Liam, I haven't heard anything else from him. He did say he would email us within the week. I think that means he must be getting a break from his workload. I do think whatever he's doing he's probably enjoying it, he seems like such a workaholic. I envy his dedication hehe. Don't worry your big sisterly head; I'm sure he's fine. Then again we all get stressed.

Have a great day!

-Alonzo

-----------

Date: 11/3/2004 8:43 PM

Subject: RE: You're not going to believe this

To: "Alonzo"

From: "Sharona Lawliet"

_He did say he would email us within the week. I think that means he must be getting a break from his workload. I do think whatever he's doing he's probably enjoying it, he seems like such a workaholic. I envy his dedication hehe. Don't worry your big sisterly head; I'm sure he's fine. Then again we all get stressed._

*sigh*

You are absolutely right. He's just working his ass off. Not like any of us around here know what that's like ;)

-----------

Date: 11/3/04 10:19 PM

Subject: RE: You're not going to believe this

To: "Sharona"

From: "Alonzo Lawliet"

_You are absolutely right. He's just working his ass off. Not like any of us around here know what that's like ;)_

(As I look at my stack of graded papers)

No, I have no idea what you're talking about. :)

Well we're heading to bed now. Take care, sis.

-Alonzo


	6. Part 6

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: The name of the RCMP Commissioner is purposefully fake for story and universe purposes and the references to the Sakura TV incident are from manga canon with some speculation.

**Part 6**

**November 5, 2004**

**Tokyo**

DigiRADIO COMM CHANNEL 11-LOG 5-11-04

[20:19] Flagship: *EMERGENCY SIGNAL ACTIVATED BY W* Awaiting response.

[20:20] Wedy: Surveillance footage from inside HQ shows W and L collapsed within seconds of each other: W in Control B, L in the Main Control Station. Both showed signs of physical distress, are now unresponsive. No visible injuries and no signs of outside involvement. They just dropped!

[20:20] Flagship: What is your location in the building?

[20:20] Wedy: 4th floor surveillance controls.

[20:21] Flagship: *Call made over police radio from inside the building requesting immediate EMS service, ETA 2 minutes*

[20:21] Wedy: I'm going out the backdoor to monitor the situation.

[20:21] Flagship: Copy that.

[20:24] Wedy: On the ground and have the bike. One ambulances at the front door, 2 NPA officers carrying L out of the building, one other is carrying W, the second ambulance just arrived. L is now being loaded inside, CPR being performed. One officer, Det. Super. Yagami, is going with him. Doors closed they're moving. W is being put inside the second one, CPR performed as well.

[20:24] Flagship: Follow both to wherever they go. If they split, call in with location.

[20:24] Flagship: Y: Get ready to move.

[20:25] Y: Copy. In the garage now.

[20:26] Flagship: Keep a distance and only report when necessary.

[20:26] Wedy: Roger. Now in pursuit, starting radio silence. Over and out.

[20:26] Y: In the car now, ready on your signal.

[20:27] Flagship: Copy, hold your position for 90 seconds, sending coordinates. Keep behind Wedy and pay attention to where she's going.

[20:27] Y: 10-4.

--------

**Toronto**

"Good morning, I'm Judd Delaney. The time is now 6:45 and these are the headlines for your Friday morning," the stiff looking man in the gray suit said from the television between Kasey's whine about how she couldn't find her other pink sneaker.

Alonzo took another hasty sip from his coffee, leaning against the wall with half an eye on the TV and half an eye on Amanda hastily finishing her cereal at the table and Kasey and her mother looking for the missing shoe.

He had another fifteen minutes before he normally would have to leave for work, but traffic on 407 had been touch and go all week due to paving. Alonzo hoped CFTO's "ace" traffic report would finally be reliable this time.

"Ten inmates in prisons in Ontario, Quebec, and British Columbia are confirmed dead from sudden heart attacks, possible victims of Kira killings," the reporter said, a graphic appearing in the background with the word "Kira" in a font that resembled dripping blood. "The Corrections Service in conjunction with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police has issued a statement saying that five inmates at Kingston Penitentiary, three at Port-Cartier Institution in Quebec, and two at Matsqui Institution in British Columbia were found dead late yesterday afternoon. The RCMP has confirmed that all the inmates died of sudden cardiac arrest, seven of which had no prior history of heart ailments."

"Amanda I don't think it's a good idea for you to watch this," Margaret said, looking up from a crouched position by the couch, still lifting the side skirt with one hand.

"It's okay," Amanda said, scooping up the last few Cheerios in her bowl. "Mrs. Rigionni shows us the news for current events. She said the news hasn't been very fair when reporting on the Kira thing."

"How so," Alonzo asked, looking to the TV and seeing a report about a fatal car accident in Mississauga.

"She said the news has been making it a sensation, which is wrong," Amanda said.

Margaret reached under the couch and pulled her arm out, producing a pink sneaker and raising it in the air in triumph. Kasey grabbed it, giving her mom a kiss on the cheek and a string of thank-yous.

"You mean sensationalizing it?" Margaret asked Amanda.

"Yeah that's the word," Amanda replied, lifting the plastic bowl to her mouth and slurping the milk out.

"I couldn't agree more," Margaret said, stretching back to a stand and brushing off her pantsuit.

Alonzo took another sip, looking at the TV again to see another report about a series of car break-ins near Queen's Quay. The graphic said they caught a suspect and the newscaster said a name but the footage was of cars parked on the side of the street with smashed-in windows.

The Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission prohibited the broadcasting of images of anyone implicated, accused, or convicted of a crime lest Kira get any more material. It was a knee-jerk reaction to an incident in Tokyo over earlier in the year where two newscasters and a man later identified as a police detective were shown dying of heart attacks on the same station airing a supposed message from Kira.

The CRTC wanted to look like they were doing their part (on the bidding of several members of Parliament) and several major newspapers also refused to show photos of criminals, though a bill banning their display in print media was still struggling through the House of Commons and looked like it would inevitably fail. The legality of the CRTC's ruling had also yet to be tested, but it was only a matter of time.

Alonzo found it curious this knee-jerk reaction did not provide the same protections to police officers; though he figured those working on any Kira related investigations were keeping a low profile anyway.

Regardless, Kira killed ten Canadian inmates anyway, though it was likely their images had been broadcasted long ago. So unfortunate they committed their crimes in less protected times. Alonzo hid a smile behind his mug.

"Now what is your commute going to look like for this morning?" the newscaster said. "Sandy LeRoux has the answer with CFTO's Ace Traffic Report."

----------

**Tokyo**

[21:07] Y: At Ibaraki Hospital on the ground floor, Wedy is on the first.

[21:07] Y: CONFIRMED: W IS DEAD.

[21:07] Y: Visual confirmation, W brought into the hospital a few more attempts at resuscitation and pronounced dead shortly after. Body is now on ground floor awaiting transport to city medical examiner's office. Was able to receive brief look at body, no signs of physical trauma or visible illness. Request declaration of STAGE 2.

[21:07] Flagship: Copy. What's L's status?

[21:08] Y: Wedy is in that area now, have not seen L at all.

[21:08] Flagship: Will wait on STAGE 2 call when L's status is known.

[21:10] Wedy: At Ibaraki Hospital, now approaching Y's position.

[21:10] Wedy: *static before silence*

[21:11] Flagship: What is your report?

[21:11] Y: Wedy: Just take a moment, take a few breaths.

[21:11] Wedy: It's fine.

[21:12] Wedy: CONFIRMED: L IS DEAD.

[21:12] Wedy: Visual confirmation. Body still in the ER, several more attempts were made at resuscitation before being pronounced dead. No visible signs of injury or illness. Chief Yagami is with him now before transport. Request declaration of STAGE 2.

[21:12] Flagship: Confirmed.

[21:13] Flagship: CONFIRMED: L and W ARE DEAD. INITIATE STAGE 2.

[21:13] Flagship: Stage 2 teams get into position; refer to FOLO A, full instructions within the next three minutes. Team A go to Y's position, Team B go to Wedy's.

[21:14] X: Roger, Team A awaiting instructions.

[21:14] Z: Copy, Team B at the ready.

--------

**Calgary**

Sharona was hardly surprised to see the piece of canary-yellow paper the second she opened the door of her mailbox. She actually paused for a moment, looking at the other mailboxes and seeing the same piece of yellow paper through the milky windows of several doors.

She took a few breaths before taking out the paper, reminding herself that the subject matter would be what was reported on the news. There had been no more killings, that was it.

Sharona snatched the paper from the box and turned it over, seeing the requisite RCMP seal on the top and the signature from Commissioner Jean Marquette on the top right of the letterhead.

_TO: All personnel from the offices of the Provincial Medical Examiners._

_FROM: Comm. Jean F. Marquette, RCMP_

_RE: Recent mysterious heart attacks, aka "Kira Killings"_

_DATE: November 5, 2004_

_To all personnel,_

_The Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Corrections Service of Canada have confirmed that a total of ten (10) inmates across the country have died of sudden cardiac arrest under suspicious circumstances on Thursday between the hours of 9:00 AM and 4:15 PM EST. Names and information can be found through contacting the respective authorities._

_The RCMP has not confirmed if any other instances of cardiac arrest have occurred under similar circumstances in Canada. However the ICPO has listed numerous cases around the globe, mostly concentrated in Japan with the second highest rate of mortality occurring in the United States. All those reported to have died are those suspected or convicted of the commission of a crime and no police or investigative personnel are reported to have fallen victim to the phenomenon._

_We ask the following of personnel in the offices of the Provincial Medical Examiners:_

_1. Any cases of sudden cardiac arrest with atypical cause are to be immediately reported to the local office of the RCMP._

_2. Use caution when speaking to the media. We recommend referring all questions to the respective offices of the Minister of Justice. If it is necessary to speak to the press, keep directly to basic facts so as not to compromise the investigation. We strongly advise against using the term "Kira" in any communications with the media._

_This case remains under investigation in the Dominion with the cooperation of Local, Provincial, Federal, and International authorities._

"Happy Friday, there's your present," Dr. Randal's voice said coming into the office.

"Yeah no kidding," Sharona said with a sigh, tossing the memo back in the box. "That shit's been all over the news all morning, every paper, every newscast."

"The vultures are picking at whatever scraps they can get," Randal said. "Thankfully this note says this is all they get for now."

"I know, a very warming thought," Sharona said.

She tapped her fingers against the side of the box for a moment, another thought coming into her mind.

"Marquette did say on thing in there that was a little spooky," Sharona said.

"What would that be," Randal asked.

"When this whole thing began, the memo said 'do not use the term Kira, under no circumstances use the term Kira,'" Sharona said. "Now the wording they're using is 'We strongly advise against using the term…' Is it just me or is that a little interesting."

Randal shrugged, though Sharona saw a brief flash of concern.

"Best case scenario it's just a change of semantics to keep possibilities open for all parties," Randal said. "Worst case scenario the Mounties can no longer pretend these are just all coincidences; the public knows what they know and they need to keep that option open."

Sharona nodded, though felt her stomach turn. Kira's existence could no longer be denied; there had been no more mysterious heart attacks since the beginning of the year yet Canada had taken action to prevent more. Regardless, Kira was still out there.

"A few DWI victims came in last night, we need you to start toxicology," Randal said. "And that list of possible finds might be long given what the CPS found in the car."

Randal walked from the room, Sharona following a few steps behind her.

-----------

**Tokyo**

[21:45] Z: The scene is secure and things are going much smoother than expected.

[21:45] Flagship: Report.

[21:45] Z: Summary report: Team B arrived on scene shortly after receiving the call with Interpol credentials. Chief Yagami has given his full cooperation and agreement on confidentiality for this matter. That is on the condition that full autopsies be performed on L and W with a report under the aliases they presented. The paper trail under those names officially ends there and death certificates and all other copies of the report will be under their real names as presented in the documentation. The NPA's copy will not be on public record and will remain with the investigative Task Force.

[21:46] Flagship: That sounds like a reasonable agreement, though full arrangements will be made as things progress. Where is Yagami now?

[21:46] Z: He left here about five minutes ago; he is going back to HQ to update the Task Force and continue on from there.

[21:46] Flagship: Team A report.

[21:46] X: We came in right behind Team B and faded in the background. We are now speaking with Wedy about the. She said she wants to leave Tokyo tonight, saying whoever got to L and W will go after the other operatives next especially if they found a way to infiltrate the Task Force.

[21:47] Flagship: Does Yagami or anyone else from the Task Force know she was at either scene?

[21:47] X: Negative as far as we know. She pulled some scrubs from a linen closet and hung around as L was treated and pronounced, Chief Yagami didn't notice anyway. She said nobody knew she was in Task Force HQ at all tonight, said she was doing some extra surveillance on the team at L's request.

[21:47] Flagship: Take her full report and we can talk after that. What is your position now?

[21:48] X: We're keeping watch on the back end, coordinating efforts with Team B and keeping watch on W.

[21:28] Flagship: Team B?

[21:48] Z: We and front and center on this, keeping close to L and making arrangements.

[21:48] Flagship: Roger. All units as you were. Update with any new developments. Over and out.

-------

**Toronto**

"Did you hear about Allison Rich-Markley," Barbara Conners said, dropping spoonful of sugar into her coffee.

"It's all over school," Mary Saunders said in a tone bordering on a shocked whisper. "Did anyone talk to any of the kids in her class this morning, find out what she actually said?"

"Kenny Cheng was the one who told me about it during fifth period," Barbara said, taking a sip and adjusting her seat on the couch. "He said they had been studying the American Civil War all week and today she did a lecture on revolutionaries, including Kira in the lecture and listing all the examples of how he falls into that category."

"So was it just matter-of-fact or was she preaching," Mary said, taking a chocolate biscotti off the plate with a variety of cookies on the table and dipping it into her coffee cup.

"He said it was like any other lecture on any historic figure. But word of it somehow got to the assistant principal," Barbara said. "I tried to call her but I think she and her husband decided to get out of town for the night and I don't blame her."

"So does anyone know when the suspension will be lifted," Jerry Thurlow said, taking a bite from a chocolate chip cookie and sipping his coffee.

"I think that's between Allison and the administration," Barbara said. "I did hear she made an immediate grievance with the union."

"She should, that's a freedom of speech violation right there," Jerry said, putting his coffee on the end table next to him and wiping his grayish brown moustache. "I wouldn't be surprised if a lawsuit came out of this."

"I doubt the administration can make this decision permanent," Ralph Conners, taking his wife's spoon to put another lump of sugar into his tea. "Though all knee-jerk reactions will have to be dealt with when the shock wears off. Kira hasn't been very active in the past few months, a few criminals here and there in Japan. Now that this goes global again, tensions are high; people are surprised and I can't say I blame them for that."

"But a teacher with ten years of service to this school gets suspended for sharing a view on Kira, what's next?" Jerry said. "If the kids in the locker room start talking about Kira and someone hears about it, does Mr. Thurlow get suspended because it was during his gym class? What if the band kids start talking about it lining up for practice, is Mr. Lawliet here next?"

"Jerry I don't think they're going after teachers for the sake of going after teachers," Alonzo said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with a napkin. "All the kids in school are talking about it with varying opinions. I don't think Mr. Kopolis and Mrs. McKenzie are looking for what the kids are saying; they're looking for what the teachers are saying. Kira is still considered a threat to most people. To play Devil's Advocate for a second, while I understand what Allison was doing with her lecture, I do agree the timing was poor."

"I think Mr. Lawliet has a really good point," Jennifer Collins said, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of finger sandwiches and placing them on the table. "We are still talking about the loss of life even if those lives were destined to get cut short anyway. People are still scared, and lecturing about a 'mass murderer' to children when reports are everywhere about more killings is not exactly kosher."

"Especially with that imposter who killed that Japanese police officer and those reporters," Ralph said, motioning for his daughter to take a seat on the adjacent easy chair and slightly smirking when she chose to sit on the arm rest of the other couch a meter from Mary. "Whoever that was made Kira really look like a mass murderer and people haven't forgotten that."

Alonzo concentrated on stirring his coffee, not entirely comfortable with that well publicized incident involving the "real" Kira calling out the "fake" Kira.

"I think that challenged a lot of ideals about Kira and maybe that's what the imposter wanted," Alonzo said. "We have seen him as a champion of justice existing in relative silence on a mission to eliminate those who would harm us and our society. Then it looks like he is killing cops and reporters as a publicity stunt and he looks like just a murderer."

"Several news outlets worldwide did polls after the Sakura TV incident when it was revealed Hirokazu Ukita, the victim outside the building, was a police officer," Jennifer said. "Several of them showed drops in support for Kira while a few people doubted that Kira would actually pull such a stunt after refusing L's call to come out and play in December. When the second Kira broadcast was made, the polls went through the roof in favor. People aren't stupid and Kira knows that."

"Kira doesn't need a press conference, he just needs to remind people of his existence," Mary said, adjusting her tightly curled black hair in her bun. "I think that is very media savvy."

"So do you think this recent appearance after several months of not being as active was to remind people of his existence, get the waves churning to get people's attention," Alonzo said, getting up from his chair to grab a triangular sandwich before sitting back down.

"It is the typical method that most celebrities take when no one is paying attention," Jennifer said, "but Kira gets all the publicity he wants even dormant. Several news outlets have already promised their full support, not just Sakura TV."

Alonzo took a bite from the sandwich and nodded.

"Which leads to the next question," Jerry said. "Is there ever going to be a time when Kira will be accepted, not hunted down, not whispered about, just accepted for his mission to humanity."

"Jenny, tell him about those forums you stumbled across," Barbara said.

"Oh God, Jenny, you don't go there do you," Mary said. "So many of those boards are loaded with psychos."

"I know the ones to stay off of and yeah the creep factor is high," Jennifer said, picking up a sandwich and balancing it on her beaten jeans with many marker and pen doodles.

"People like that are why we can only discuss Kira in little quiet meetings like this without getting attacked," Jerry said.

"Well we're not the only ones," Jennifer said. "Anyone can say what they are online, but the caliber of speech is that of professionals and some have left business cards with their names; doctors, businessmen, I even ran into a prosecutor from Kyoto, all of their credentials check. There are even Kira chats on a few different company websites. It's moving more mainstream than you could imagine."

"I think it's a matter of inevitability," Alonzo said. "Kira has only been doing this for a year and already he even has this group, professional educators, who support him. I don't think the police will stop looking for him, I think this L character will make this a life-long vendetta if he has to. Kira will go through ebbs and flows of acceptance, but ultimately there will be a point where the police will just tire of going after him. Maybe this is why he lays low for a while and comes right back. He doesn't need to kill police; he just needs to throw the trail off himself."

"Well what about L himself, now there's another question," Barbara said, grabbing the handle of plastic coffee pitcher and pouring some more in her cup.

"Something really smells fishy there," Mary said. "It's a little too Deep Throat for me or even Wizard of Oz if you think about it."

"Don't look at the man behind the curtain," Ralph said with a laugh.

"It's not one person, I can bet you that much," Jerry said. "My guess is L is a collective of agents, active or otherwise, from several different investigative and intelligence agencies; CIA, FBI, MI-5 or even 6, maybe RCMP is represented, maybe some old KGB. Maybe this was formed after the fall of the Iron Curtain or the fall of the Twin Towers. Regardless there's no way L could have gotten this much cooperation and this much access if it was a private team. Maybe L means 'League of Investigators' or something."

"But you don't think it's one person, maybe a retired director of the CIA or a special operative from Interpol," Alonzo said, reaching over for the coffee pitcher.

"Impossible," Jerry said. "You bump off the lone investigator you bump off the investigation. Even if L is that good to stay out of anyone's way, he or she is limited to staying in a locked room or keeping a hundred different disguises. They sure as hell wouldn't have pulled a stunt like that on national television. I also doubt a lone agent, even if connected to a government or police agency, would gain that much access unless he or she had handlers; once again no agency is going to trust one person with that much information."

"Hence it's a team effort anyway," Ralph said.

"If it's an individual or a team, most people I've spoken to think L is highly untrustworthy anyway," Jennifer said.

"I remember the CBC did a report on that shortly after that whole fiasco on Japanese TV," Barbara said. "Some experts, criminal psychologists or something like that with a laundry list of credentials, said it could be argued that L and Kira were the same; Kira kills and appears as L to divert suspicion."

"It's an interesting theory but I don't believe it for a second," Mary said, taking a sip from her cup. "Kira wouldn't want to attract attention to himself so recklessly. I believe he is confident in his mission and wants to make sure we know what he is doing for the world."

"I've also chatted with quite a few people who swear that Kira isn't an individual," Jennifer said, taking another sandwich from the coffee table. "There are many scholarly essays on the web that conclude that these judgments are an act of God. A lot of people are excited and a lot of people, even his supporters, are also scared."

"I'm not a religious man myself, no matter how many times the wife has tried to drag me to church," Alonzo said with a chuckle. "But maybe that is meant to be a mystery. Perhaps if no one can find any physical means for how Kira carries out his actions, than maybe we are dealing with some force beyond our comprehension."

Silence followed, most of the group looking at each other and nodding their heads.

This wasn't a group of crazed cultists and Alonzo knew it; this was a group of intelligent professionals who strongly supported Kira on an intellectual and moral level. No one, however, was ruling out the prospect that this was divine judgment.

"Ever think of dragging the wife here sometime, or would she kick you in the nuts if she found out you were here," Jerry said, taking the coffee pitcher.

"She doesn't like Kira herself, but I just tell her we meet for coffee," Alonzo said. "She's just happy to see me getting out occasionally."

Silence was replaced by good natured chuckles across the room.

----------

**Calgary**

All Sharona saw were gurneys.

Gurneys lined against the wall leading into the mortuary; all containing human shaped mounds covered in white sheets strapped over them. Ten lead up the corridor, five sat in the hallway bend.

She ran forward, looking for any stretch of empty space where there were no dead bodies.

One next to her had been a CPS officer; she just knew by looking at it. Another was an RCMP inspector and the one beside him was a teenage shoplifter he was interrogating. The sound of their groans and screams resonated through her mind; all of them clutching their chests and dropping, skin blanching, eyes bulging or closing if they were lucky.

She cleared the double doors to see more bodies lined up the hallway; one heart attack victim after another.

Dr. Randal was standing over one gurney being wheeled in by Frank and Jamie, two of the regular van drivers and transporters. The medical examiner took off her glasses, her eyes red from exhaustion and her face pure white.

"All of them came in during the past two hours," Dr. Randal said. "It's a mess. Kira's attention is firmly set on Calgary and he's showing no mercy. Most of them are police officers, but many are teenagers."

Sharona didn't say anything; words were an alien concept. She just stood and stared at the endless stretch of bodies before her.

Then she looked behind her; he emailed and said he was coming immediately and he didn't lie.

He wore a lab coat over the long sleeved white shirt and jeans he favored so much; a pumpkin-shaped cookie in one hand and beaten sneakers on his feet.

"I rushed over as soon as Sharona sent me the message," Liam said, reaching their location in the corridor.

"Oh, thank God you're here," Dr. Randal said, walking forward with a clear look of relief. "I have faith that you will figure this out and put an end to this."

"Liam is a very skilled detective, he has solved many heinous cases like this," Sharona said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We all are in excellent hands now."

"It's so amazing the great detective is your brother," Randal said. "We think we have thirty so far, two are on the table as we speak."

"I will need to examine the bodies closely; there is a common physical thread with all of them," Liam said, taking a bite from his cookie. "Once we isolate that thread it will lead us to Kira. Sharona I will need to consult with you after my examinations."

"I have looked over ten of Kira's before today victims and I can definitely provide you with information," Sharona said.

Liam gave a wide grin before throwing his arms around her.

She embraced him tightly, burying her head in his shoulder and savoring his warmth; savoring the smell and feel of her little brother.

He kissed her cheek and she felt his breath in her ear.

"I love you so much, Sharona-sensei," he whispered in her ear. "I always will."

"I love you too, Liam-sensei," she said, her own words waking her from her sound sleep.

Sharona opened her eyes. There were no bodies in front of her, only the glow of the streetlights outside her window reflecting off the ceiling.

She bolted upright with a gasp, her vision adjusting to see her dresser and the Warhol print of Elvis on the opposite wall. Everything was quiet and dark, she was completely alone.

Sharona let out a heaving breath then another that sounded like a sob.

"It's Saturday, Sharona," she said to herself, burying her head in her hands. "Stay in bed a little longer."

She took a few more breaths, registering the lavender oil on the diffuser on her dresser and not the chemical smell of her office.

She was at home, it was 3 a.m.; it was a good feeling…save for the realization that Liam wasn't here after all. That part made her stomach ache a little more.

But he said he would call within the next week or so; it was a thought that made her take a few clearing breaths.

Sharona threw off the covers and stepped out of bed, remembering the frozen pizza she had in the freezer that could spare a few slices for a moment like this.

----------

**November 7, 2004**

**London**

MESSAGE RECEIVED 10:33 GMT

TO: T

FROM: FLAGSHIP

I am sending you a direct transcript of the digital radio communications that were made on the 5 of November for your reference. As usual these are TOP SECRET.

Within 5 minutes after receiving this message you will also receive an email with instructions for your part of the mission and an electronic dossier on the people you will need to contact after receiving the information.

This afternoon you will also receive a specially delivered package containing all necessary documents pertaining to your client, all information extensively reviewed and all determined to be fit for standard legal use.

After receiving all of your instructions and information, you will make contact with the clients in your folio after 24 hours.

All other instructions and information will be sent to you in your packets.

###


	7. Part 7

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This chapter deals with the subject of a death in the family, in this case a sibling death, which might be unsettling to those sensitive to this topic. This also contains a quote from "Toy Story" which is copyright of The Walt Disney Company/Pixar.

**Part 7**

**November 8, 2004**

**Toronto**

The acoustics in the room were good, yet the microphones were still picking up an echo.

Alonzo adjusted his position on the stool in front of the small fader unit on a card table, turning up the volume of the recording he has just made and listening carefully through the headphones for where the echo was coming from. He looked up again through the door of the small closet in the basement now lined with carpet panels with a microphone stand in the center.

The microphone was too close to the wall; that had to be it. The sound of his violin was bouncing off the paneling and making a more hollow sound in the recording.

Alonzo nodded, getting up from the stool and walking into the studio again, closing the door and taking his violin off the stool near the microphone. He held the violin and the bow in one hand, the other hand grabbing the mic stand and positioning it closer to the center of the room; trying to keep an equal distance between the walls.

He then positioned the instrument under his chin and dragged the bow across the strings in one cord. He took another step back, pulling another note and nodding; it sounded better already.

Alonzo closed the door, sliding the stool and the control unit closer to him and taking a seat in front of the microphone. He then pressed a button, activating the digital recording from inside the studio, though hopefully in the next month or so he would have some students at the mixers outside and a few others joining him inside the studio.

Alonzo did a few scales before dragging the bow across and starting "Ode to Joy." He completed the first verse and stopped, already satisfied with how this was going.

He pushed the recording off and got up from his seat, replacing the violin and bow on the stool and opening the door.

The clomping steps of little sneakers running down the stairs pulled his attention upward. Kasey's pink sneakers came into view followed by her blue jeans and blue and pink sweatshirt.

"Daddy, phone call," Kasey said. "Mommy's still on the other end."

"Thanks honey," Alonzo said, walking to the couch at the other side of the room where a cordless phone rested on a bookshelf. "Did they say who they were?"

"I don't think so," Kasey said. "And mommy said she's going to make popcorn."

"Tell her I'll be right up," Alonzo said, watching her nod and run back up the stairs.

Alonzo grabbed the phone off the shelf and took a seat on the old brown couch with blue and white flowers all over it, pressing the "talk" button.

"Hello," he said, hearing a small beep on the other end indicating Margaret hung up her line when Alonzo picked up.

"Good evening, am I speaking with Alonzo Lawliet," the voice on the other end said in a British accent.

"Yes this is he," Alonzo said.

"Mr. Lawliet my name is Travis Wells and I am a business attorney based in London," the man said. "I represent your brother Liam Lawliet and I was advised to contact you."

Liam's attorney? Alonzo furrowed his brows. Liam mentioned something a while ago about having a business attorney who looked over his contracts and managed his affairs. Why the hell would he be calling here?

"In what regards, Mr. Wells," Alonzo said. "Liam isn't in some kind of legal trouble is he?"

Silence followed for a few uncomfortable seconds. Alonzo did not like where this was going. At last the man on the other end gave a sigh.

"Mr. Lawliet, I must ask if you're sitting down," he said.

----------

Margaret pulled the pan off the stove, a few renegade kernels popping out of the pan and bouncing off her arm followed by Amanda's laugh.

"I have a feeling your dad's phone call went a bit longer than he thought," she said, pulling a cereal bowl from the counter and putting some of the contents in it.

CTV was showing "Toy Story" at 7 tonight and the girls had already finished their homework and picked up their rooms. Margaret thought it was a good opportunity to have some family time on a Monday night; pop some popcorn the old fashioned way and watch a movie before the girls had to be in bed.

"Oh he just got off the phone," Amanda said from the table.

"How do you know that," Kasey asked.

"I'm psychic," Amanda said with a giggle.

Margaret smirked before looking at the phone on the shelf under the cabinets. The green light was off near the bottom, indicating the phone was off.

"Yup, she must be psychic," Margaret said with a laugh, walking back to the stove. "Or the magic phone light told her."

"See," Amanda said, followed by a groan from her sister.

"You guys want some popcorn," Margaret said.

Little feet padded across the linoleum and Margaret looked back to see two smiling faces looking up at her. She gave one bowl to Kasey then Amanda before lifting the shaker of popcorn spice from the counter and shaking it on. It was a healthier experiment Alonzo tried with the girls a while ago and since then they insisted on having it.

"Now go find a spot on the couch," Margaret said, gently putting a hand on their shoulders and moving them along to the living room.

She walked back into the kitchen, adjusting the barrette in her strawberry-blonde hair and looking at the phone. The green light was on again, indicating Alonzo was on another call. Maybe it was one of those phone trees at school, though she did want him to join them for the movie.

Margaret walked to the hallway, opening the basement door and walking down. She heard Alonzo's voice for a moment, something about "please call me back" before silence took over.

She slowed her pace near the bottom of the stairs, cautiously poking her head under the ceiling to see what Alonzo was doing.

Alonzo was seated on the couch, his forearms on his knees; the phone in one hand and his glasses in the other. She paused for a moment, one hand resting on the railing and one foot taking a quiet step.

Alonzo's head was bowed; she could hear heavy breaths from across the room.

He raised his hands and Margaret saw they were shaking; the phone went on one side of the couch, glasses on the other. He put his elbows on his knees, forehead resting in his hands.

Alonzo took a few more hard sighs before letting out a sob, tears streaming down his face.

--------

**Calgary**

"I told Mr. Gonzales that the water pressure was down in my bathtub," Mrs. Holman said, ignoring Sharona's obvious clues that she was more interested in getting through the door of her apartment than standing in the hallway and listening to her neighbor complain. "I told him, 'Look, I like to take long showers for my sciatica and I can't be helped unless the pressure is at a certain level.'"

"Mr. Gonzales told me he there will be spikes in water pressure but that's because of the city and not him," Sharona said, at last managing to put the key in the lock and twist it. "I'm really sorry to cut this off but I have company coming in half an hour. I've got a stew to make, I'm just really busy."

"Well don't let my old woman ravings keep you," Mrs. Holman said with a smile.

Sharona smiled back and shoved open the door, entering the apartment and closing the door behind her before the conversation continued there. She threw her purse on the couch, wanting to just sit down and watch TV but her story about making a stew actually sounded appetizing. Maybe she had some cans of Dinty Moore in the cupboard.

She turned around toward the kitchenette, though a blinking number drew her attention to the phone; she had two new messages. She wanted to ignore them, but it was probably best to have it over with before officially settling down after work.

Dave was coming up this next weekend and wanted to hang out, one was probably him. The other was probably some political call about legislation over room taxes she had been getting for the past two weeks.

Sharona walked to the phone, sitting on the couch and pressing the "play" button.

First message received today at 4:25 PM.

"I am calling for Sharona Lawliet," a voice said on the machine with a pronounced English accent. "My name is Travis Wells. I am a business attorney in London and I represent your brother Liam Lawliet. Please call me back as soon as you receive this message, it is rather urgent."

The voice listed off a country code and a series of numbers. The pen from her pocket and wrote the numbers on the back of her hand, hearing the man say the number again and allowing her to fill in the numbers she missed.

Sharona realized she was numb; what the hell could this have been about but Liam was in some kind of trouble. Liam was practically alone in England; it made sense that he would appoint his attorney, his main contact and liaison through his business, to contact his family if something was wrong.

Maybe he had been arrested, that was the only option she could work with at the moment. Or maybe he was in the hospital; maybe he fell ill on a jobsite and was unable to contact them.

Worrying about the possibilities however would not mean any answers. It was probably nothing anyway; Liam had been on her mind too much since that last email.

Next message received today at 4:40 PM

"Sharona it's Alonzo," said the familiar voice on the line. "It's about quarter to 7 my time so it's probably closer to 5 where you are and I figure you are just getting out of work now." Alonzo's voice was taking on more of a strain the more he continued, almost threatening to crack. "I just got off the phone with a man named Travis Wells, he says he's Liam's attorney. He says he tried to call you earlier but tried me next. Anyway, all I will say right now is if you receive a message from him please call him back as soon as possible it is regarding Liam." Alonzo's voice cracked and he took a heavy breath before continuing. "After you get off the phone with him, I beg you to call me right afterwards. It is rather…" Alonzo paused; Sharona swore she heard a sob. "Anyway, just please call me back."

The message ended. Sharona felt like she had melted to the couch, her head swam.

She took a few breaths and took the phone out of its cradle, jabbing the numbers down on the keypad and not pausing for a moment to even consider what she was going to hear.

The usual dial tones followed, every one digging into her now-frayed nerves. The tones stopped with a brief moment of silence that felt like an eternity.

"Travis Wells, esq.," a voice said, the same voice Sharona just heard over the answering machine.

"Ah, hi, Mr. Wells," Sharona said, trying to keep her voice as calm and even as possible despite the pounding through her ears. "This is Sharona Lawliet; I believe you left a message on my answering machine almost an hour ago."

"Yes, Ms. Lawliet," Wells said. "As I said on the message, your brother Liam Lawliet has been my client for the past five years. I mostly manage his contracts, though I am his contact in case of an emergency."

"Your message has led me to believe such is the situation," Sharona said, voice a little more insistent. "What happened to Liam, is he alright?"

Silence followed for a second along with a sigh.

"Ms. Lawliet I have to ask if you are sitting down," Wells said.

"Yes, I'm sitting down," Sharona practically barked, "now what's going on with Liam."

She just wanted an answer; no lead up, no preparation, just an answer. Words like this were usually followed by the worst, though she blocked out all conscious thought of that kind.

"Ms. Lawliet I am very sorry to be the one to tell you," Wells said.

Sharona could barely hold the phone; her mind went blank and her hand started to tremble.

"Your brother has passed away," Wells said.

Her mind barely registered what she just heard though it was slowly sinking in. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"God…what…what," she sputtered, all words failing her with the explosion of sobs that threatened to break through. "What the fuck happened!"

"He was on a jobsite and…and he went into cardiac arrest," Wells said. "They took him to a hospital and the doctors and emergency workers tried to save him but it was too late."

"How, how was that possible he was healthy," Sharona yelled through sobs. "He never said anything about…God…Goddammit how did this happen!"

"Ms. Lawliet I am truly, truly sorry," Wells said.

Sharona pressed the talk button, managing to stand and throw the phone across the room. It bounced off the table, the battery pack flying out and all pieces landed on the kitchenette floor.

Her knees slowly buckled, her legs shaking too much to stand. Knees met the carpet and she lowered herself in an awkward sit, back resting against the couch and head lying on the cushion.

She gave out a few breathy sobs, her body numb, her mind blank.

This wasn't happening. This was some kind of prank, some kind of miscommunication.

But this made too much sense and she hung up before she could receive any real answers. She had feared the worst for Liam over the past week; now it actually happened.

"_Otouto,_" she whimpered.

A pair of wide, gray eyes entered her memory. That messy black hair, shorter now than when they were kids, but still something like he would wear.

"_Sensei_."

He was sitting on this couch just a year ago, eating some brownies she mad made for the occasion. They talked about the upcoming Presidential election and how she sprained her wrist in gym class.

She could still hear that deep, mature voice; see his knees pressed to his chest as that black hair brushed against the back of the couch as he pondered some matter she had already forgot.

It was like he was here…but he would never be.

The next thing out of her mouth would be a long wail.

"LIAM!"

The word broke into sobs.

She buried her face in the cushion, hot tears soaking the material and every breath a new cry.

---------

**Toronto**

"You are a toy!"

Woody accentuated each word with a flail of his spindly limbs.

"You are a sad, strange little man," Buzz said, shaking his head under his helmet.

Kasey and Amanda burst into giggles, Amanda reaching into her bowl and tossing up a piece of popcorn. She tried to catch it in her mouth but it landed behind the couch instead.

She shrugged, simply picking up another piece knowing she would have to pick that one up later along with a few of the others. Mom wasn't here to remind her.

Shortly after the movie started, their mom poked her head in the room saying she had to help dad with something for a little while but they would both be back up.

That was a while ago but other than a couple words of speculation on what their parents could be doing downstairs, the girls weren't too bothered.

At last footsteps came across the floor. Kasey popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth and looked at the door, Amanda more focused on the Pizza Hut commercial that just came on.

Dad walked through the door first with mom behind him keeping her hand on his shoulder. Amanda gradually turned her eyes to him, though both sisters' gazes were soon locked to their parents.

His eyes were red and he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He looked like he had been crying.

"Everything okay, daddy," Kasey said.

Alonzo put his hands in his pockets and walked forward. Margaret rubbed his back before walking to the couch and sitting beside Amanda.

"Girls I need to talk to you about something," Alonzo said, the concerned looks on their faces already digging into him.

He reached for the buttons on the TV set, pushing the volume to its lowest setting. Maybe a little visual distraction would be nice right now but he needed the floor.

Alonzo then sat on the couch, putting an arm around Kasey.

"What's going on," Amanda said.

Alonzo took his glasses off, wiping his face with his hand and trying to think of the best way to say this or even if he could say this without breaking down. He put his glasses back on and took a few breaths. It was best to be as forward, yet gentle as possible.

"I just got a phone call from a man in England, someone who works with Uncle Liam," Alonzo said. His throat closed for a moment but he managed to relax. No, there shouldn't be any flowery introductions; it was best to get to the point. "Girls, your uncle got very sick; he had a problem with his heart."

Both of them gave little gasps.

"Is he going to be okay," Kasey said.

Alonzo slowly shook his head, the words leaving him for a moment as he clutched her shoulder a bit tighter.

"He was in the hospital and they gave him medicine, tried to make him better," Alonzo said. "But he…he didn't get better. Girls, Uncle Liam died."

"No!" Kasey and Amanda said in succession.

Margaret put both her arms around Amanda; Kasey looked helplessly up at her dad as he held her close.

"I tried to call Auntie Sharona, but I think she was at work," Alonzo said.

Kasey buried her head in his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Alonzo put his own arms around his daughter, feeling her sobs and feeling the water build in his eyes as well. Amanda had her face in her hands, Margaret running her hand through her long, black hair.

"You guys remember what they said in Sunday school?" Margaret said. "Your uncle was a very good and caring person. You guys will always have the memories of how nice he was with you, but your dad and I truly know how good he was. He's in Heaven now; he's probably hanging out with Jesus right as we're talking."

Amanda managed a laugh between a sob. Alonzo smiled, doubting Liam was at all the praying type.

--------

**Calgary**

Sharona replaced the battery in the back of the phone with shaking hands. She missed the connections a few times, though finally the blue battery was back in the phone and the cover soon following it.

She pulled out a chair at the table, legs now strong enough to put her on the seat. She looked back down at her hand and jabbed the numbers on the keypad again, hoping this attorney would be patient with her meltdown.

Sharona took a few deep breaths as the dial tones followed. The initial shock was over; it was time to get some real answers.

"Travis Wells, esq.," the voice said on the other line.

"Mr. Wells this is Sharona Lawliet," she said, surprised at how well she managed to keep her voice from cracking. "I am really sorry for hanging up earlier."

"Oh Ms. Lawliet I am so glad you called me back," he said. "I was definitely concerned, though I understand what a blow this must have been."

"Regardless, since you're the one calling us about this I assume you're the one with all the details," Sharona said, wanting to get straight to the point.

"Yes I do," Wells said. "I spoke with your brother Alonzo shortly after my initial call to your residence. I would like to have a word with you both over a conference call regarding the exact details; you and Alonzo are Liam's next of kin and any arrangements should be mutually worked out between you. That and I'm not fond of repeating myself twice to be honest."

"That does sound reasonable," Sharona said with a shaking sigh. It was best if she and Alonzo discuss this together. Then again it would be best if she and Alonzo were in the same room, but those details could be worked out when she called him back.

"All I will tell you is Liam did have a last will and testament including his wishes for burial arrangements," Wells said. "He was a very thorough individual. You will receive the details later though he did say his wish was to be laid to rest in Alberta. I gave Alonzo the same information."

Sharona's stomach turned, though somehow she wasn't surprised. What reason would a 25-year-old have to make a will with burial arrangements? There was something more to this, but then Liam's mind never seemed to work like everyone else's. It sounded like something he would do but that hardly put Sharona at ease.

She could pick it over later, or perhaps the reason would be part of that final package the lawyer wanted to present.

"Alonzo did tell me that he wanted to arrange for the call later after he had spoken with you," Wells said.

"That is going to be my next call after I get off the phone with you," Sharona said.

"Well I have nothing more to add at the moment, perhaps it would be best if we end this conversation and pick up when you two have talked," Wells said.

"Yeah, that would be the best thing to do under the circumstances," Sharona said.

"Ms. Lawliet, you and your brother have my deepest condolences," Wells said. "If you need anything do not hesitate to call me at this number at any time."

His tone was absolutely sincere, though she still took it with a grain of salt.

"Thank you," she said, not holding back a small sob. "I will talk with you soon."

Sharona pressed the talk button and practically slammed the phone on the table, resting her forehead in one hand and taking a few deep breaths. Tears welled to the surface again though she held them back long enough to pick up the phone again and dial Alonzo's number.

The requisite dial tones followed: one, two, then three.

"Jesus Christ, Alonzo," she muttered, resisting the urge to throw the phone against something harder.

The fourth tone followed with silence.

"Hello," Alonzo said.

Sharona tried to speak but the words caught in her throat for a moment.

"Alonzo," she said in a shaking voice.

"Sharona, thank God," Alonzo said with a heaving breath.

"I just got off the phone with…" she said, though tears took over.

She simply gave into the sobs, hearing more on the other end.

"I can't believe this," Alonzo said, his own voice in loose sobs. "He's gone, Sharona; our little brother's gone."

"But…but…this can't be happening, this lawyer guy has to be a fraud," Sharona sputtered, "there's no way, he was healthy!"

"Sharona we really don't know that," Alonzo said, sounding like he was trying to control his voice. "But that is something we can discuss with the attorney when we talk to him. He probably has easier access to all the documentation than we do right now. Sharona, I don't think we should be in two separate areas right now. I'm going to book a flight to Calgary, hopefully tonight or at the latest tomorrow morning."

Sharona sobbed a little harder, though more from happiness. She wanted Alonzo here now.

"The lawyer said Liam wanted to be buried in Alberta," Sharona managed to say through sobs.

"That's exactly what he told me as well so it would be best if the two of us were in Alberta," Alonzo said. "That way we could discuss matters with Mr. Wells together and handle any arrangements on home turf."

Sharona covered her mouth and let out a few more sobs.

"Sharona we have each other, we'll get through this," Alonzo said with a sob.

Sharona nodded to herself.

--------

**Toronto**

"I know it's late, but I made some coffee," Margaret said, walking through the screen door to the back patio.

Alonzo looked back at her from his seat on the steps. His glasses were on and his eyes did not look as red.

A blue mug was in each hand and she passed one to Alonzo with the usual milk and Splenda, which he took with a smile.

"Thank you so much," he said, blowing on the steaming contents before taking a cursory sip.

Margaret walked across the patio and took a seat next to her husband with her own cup of black coffee.

"Are the girls in bed?" Alonzo asked.

"Yes," Margaret said. "We said an extra prayer for Uncle Liam and they seemed to fall right to sleep after I left."

Alonzo took a sip with a sigh.

"They just adored him," Alonzo said. "Whenever he would call or come over it was like a huge treat to them even though he was hardly around."

"He seemed a bit child-like himself," Margaret said, taking her own sip. "Those girls are two little balls of energy and talking to everyone. To them he may have been like a shy little boy on the playground they wanted to drag on the swing set."

Alonzo chuckled at the analogy.

"The biggest difference between when he was six and when I last spoke to him is he actually talked," Alonzo said. "When we were kids, hearing him speak more than a full sentence was a like an event in itself."

"Didn't you say he was autistic," Margaret said.

"None of us heard anything official when we were kids and damned if he ever mentioned it recently," Alonzo said. "But I heard the word tossed around. Dad would come home and sputter to all his scuzzbag buddies how the school district didn't know its ass from a hole in the ground; in those exact words mind you."

"I can imagine," Margaret said with a laugh.

"But, no, given what I've seen of him and given how many workshops and training sessions we've done on special education, I can almost tell you he was on the spectrum," Alonzo said. "Asperger's probably. But then we never really knew much about him."

Alonzo took a long sip and pondered the words.

"You think he had any illnesses that you didn't know about," Margaret said.

"Oh God yes, I'm sure of it," Alonzo said. "He looked like hell, was rail thin, barely ate anything that wasn't sweets. I thought he was a junkie for the longest while, though maybe I was right. He…he just seemed to be a mess, but then most 20-something computer nerds look like that." Another thought went through his head that made another connection. "Sharona did mention after his last visit, you know that day when we all went to that cabin on the lake over the summer. She mentioned she saw this rather long scar across his side and from her experience it looked somewhat recent. She said she asked him about it; he didn't want to talk about it. He said he had a skiing accident, put a tear in his kidney."

"But neither of you are buying that," Margaret said.

"She said he didn't let her look at it long enough, but she swears she saw another scar beside it, a smaller one. It could have been anything from a small biopsy scar to a stab wound. He never mentioned it before this, which we both found rather suspicious; he ends up in the hospital for major surgery and doesn't tell us."

"I think it could be that he was so used to handling things on his own," Margaret said. "You guys had to fend for yourselves in a way after your dad died. That and he hadn't seen you for 14 years, maybe it would have taken another 14 to fully warm up especially if he was autistic."

Alonzo nodded, taking another sip. Silence followed for a few more seconds as so many things built up in his mind.

His hand started shaking, eyes down on his stocking feet on the step.

"I think that's the worst part," Alonzo said. "I never really warmed up to him either."

"He was gone for so long and suddenly just shows up, I don't blame you," Margaret said, inching closer to him.

Alonzo shook his head, putting the cup to his mouth and savoring the warmth.

"I felt…" he said, knowing this was going to sound horrible. He had to have it out anyway or else it would destroy him. "I felt that he…he was a part of my life that was over. Five years ago I truly felt I had made piece with everything that had happened to me. I had you, I had two wonderful girls, I had full sobriety, I had a great sister back in the country who brought back a great brother-in-law. I was satisfied. For the first time in over a decade…no…for the first time ever I felt like I had the life I wanted. And then he showed back up and just brought so many horrible memories with him."

Alonzo took a glance at Margaret, seeing her look at him with a calm, yet sympathetic gaze.

"It's not like I didn't love my brother," Alonzo continued, voice caught in a sob. "It's just that the last time I saw him he was six and…it's just I got to a point over the years where I just stopped worrying about him; where I just made peace with the fact I would never see him again and that was that. I wanted to be happy when Sharona said he called her, but I just wanted to pretend she never said anything."

"Alonzo all of you were put through so much back then," Margaret said, putting a hand on his knee. "I'm sure all three of you had different ways of coping and I can't blame you for how you feel."

Alonzo nodded, though that was just the simple explanation. He could say so much more, but he didn't want to deal with that now.

"Anyway, I'm flying out to Calgary tomorrow morning, it's an 8 a.m. flight," Alonzo said with a heavy sigh threatening tears. "I already called the sub and I got a hold of Mrs. McKenzie and made all the arrangements. I now have the week off with bereavement time."

"Oh good," Margaret said. "I'm still debating if I should call the girls in sick tomorrow."

"I'll leave that call up to you," Alonzo said, taking a sip of the now-cooling contents. "We will be speaking with the lawyer to make arrangements. I'll give you a call when we have the details for calling hours, the service, whatever happens."

Margaret nodded.

"I'll give the bank a heads up that I might not be in come the end of the week," she said. "How is Sharona doing?"

"She's a mess, but she's managing," Alonzo said. "She told me about an hour ago she was staying at a friend's place tonight."

"Good she shouldn't be alone," Margaret said.

She was the one who kept the closest to Liam, Alonzo thought. She was the worrying big sister, though what did that make him.

"After this is over, after I get back, I'm going to give Dr. Hurwitz a call," Alonzo said. "This whole thing is going to be too much to handle on my own."

"I think that would be best," Margaret said. "He has helped you so much in the past, I'm sure he will help all of us get through this tough time."

Alonzo nodded, looking at his wife and putting his arm around her.

"Have I ever told you you're the greatest," he said, pulling her close.

"Not today at least, but I knew that anyway," she said.

Alonzo laughed and kissed her on the cheek.


	8. Part 8

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Author's Note: Contains a quote from "The Mummy (1999)" which is copyright Universal Pictures.

**Part 8**

**November 9, 2004**

**Calgary**

Alonzo cleared the gate, trying to get his rolling bag stabilized on its wheels when he saw a figure practically run in his direction.

He looked up and saw one of the nicest sights he had seen in too long; his sister doing a power walk towards him trying to keep her purse on her shoulder while that usual ponytail bounced off her back.

Alonzo steered closer to a wall and out of traffic though it was becoming harder to keep a grip on his bags. He finally let go of the handles; a duffel bag falling to the floor and the rolling bag flopping over but he could hardly care. He just stood as his sister rushed up to him and caught him in a strong hold.

Sharona gave a hard sob into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and kissed the side of her cheek while a few of his own tears snuck out.

Both of them wanted to say something to signify this moment, though all words floated away with the airport noise and the warmth of each other's presence. This was all either of them needed right now.

Sharona gave a heaving sigh and gradually pulled back, Alonzo also loosening his embrace allowing them to separate.

"Have a good flight?" Sharona said, voice somewhat shaky.

"I've had better," Alonzo said, reaching down and grabbing the handle of the blue duffel bag.

Sharona bent down, taking the handle of the rolling bag and standing it upright. Alonzo reached for the handle but Sharona wheeled it behind her back; she was taking this one.

"Let's just get the hell out of here," he said.

"My car's in the lot," Sharona said, stabilizing the wheels and walking away, her brother following close behind.

---------

"Did you bring that phone," Sharona asked, flicking an ash from her cigarette out the window before taking a draw.

"It's in the big bag," Alonzo said, looking out the windshield at the rest of the cars in front of them on Route 2. "I almost forgot we had it."

The conversation with the lawyer was going to be a conference call. Alonzo knew Sharona didn't have a phone with a speaker, but Margaret got one after they replaced the phones at the bank. Margaret got to take home a beige phone straight from the 1990's and it had sat in the attic for two years.

He remembered it during their last call the other night, Alonzo saying he would bring it if he could find it and he did. It took half an hour and rooting through several boxes until midnight but he found it.

"It works right," Sharona said, passing a silver minivan.

"It does, I tested it out before it went in my bag," he said. "I'll do another test when we get to your place, one can never be too careful."

Sharona nodded, taking another draw and putting her directional on to get in the other lane.

"The lawyer called me this morning, wanted to know what we were doing and when would be the best time for the conversation," she said. "I told him when you were arriving so he says he's going to make the call at 1:30."

"I called him after I got off the phone with you last night, told him I was coming to Calgary," Alonzo said.

"I figured that was the case," she said.

Sharona passed a red car in front of them, the thumping whoosh of air coming in from her partially open window the only sound.

"What do you think he's going to tell us," Alonzo said.

"Everything," Sharona said without pause, flicking another ash out the window and taking a draw. "Truthfully, I don't give a damn about paperwork and arrangements right now; I want to know what happened to him even if it's preliminary."

Alonzo looked at the hand holding the cigarette, seeing it shake as it went back on the steering wheel.

"Same here," he said, trying to choose his words carefully. "Though you know first hand if it just happened no one's going to know the whole story for a while."

Sharona nodded, though knew better than to take this as progress.

"Also I shouldn't be surprised with whatever I do hear," she said with a hard sigh, taking a last draw and stumping her cigarette out in the car's ashtray. "I know that's what you're about to say next."

"Forgive me if I don't think you're much of a mind reader," he said.

Sharona gave a stiff smirk and nodded.

"That was actually my own conclusion as of early this morning," she said.

Alonzo took a casual grip on the clothes hanger and looked at her.

"Look, cardiac arrest always has a cause," Sharona said, followed by a pause as she tried to say this. "Wells said he went into arrest while at a jobsite, meaning he had some condition that caught up with him right then."

"What kind of conditions can cause that," Alonzo said, looking back out the window at an SUV passing them on the highway.

"There's a whole laundry list," Sharona said, "anything with any impact on the pulmonary or central nervous system. In other words barring foul play, no Alonzo, he was probably not all that healthy."

Alonzo nodded. This time he wished she didn't say he was probably right.

"But this is all just speculation at this point," Alonzo said. "We weren't there, we haven't talked to any doctors or seen any reports, and we just got the information second hand. That is going to be the first thing we ask the attorney and if he's a decent human being that should be the first thing he brings up anyway."

"Yes," Sharona said with a hard sigh.

She didn't want to start crying right now, but the pull was close. Instead she took a few more deep breaths and focused on the motorcycle in front of her. They were almost at their exit anyway.

"I spoke to the assistant principal last night and I'm cleared for the week off," Alonzo said.

"Oh good," Sharona said, welcoming a lighter part of the conversation. "No one gave you any shit I hope."

"Oh no, she was very sympathetic," he said.

"I called Dr. Randal last night, right before I want to Latisha's place," Sharona said. "God I freaking cried like five minutes to my boss and she just listened, kept telling me she was there for me."

"That's one hell of a boss."

"Oh God she's great," Sharona said, trying to keep her tears in check right now. "How about Mags, is she going to have any problems getting here when we know what's going on?"

"No, she's saved up enough vacation time already and they are pretty good about honoring stuff like that," Alonzo said.

Sharona nodded, putting her signal on for the coming exit and getting into the far side of the lane. Silence fell again.

Alonzo couldn't help but think it was the calm before the storm.

--------

"You always did have more balls than brains."

Brendan Fraser laughed with his fez-wearing companion for a moment with his arm over his shoulder.

Sharona knew what was going to happen next; this was probably the tenth time she'd seen this movie in some form.

"Goodbye, Beni," Brendan, or Rick O'Connell, said, throwing the guy over the side of the boat.

She gave a nervous chuckle, looking over and seeing Alonzo smile a little with the outcome. He already said he had never seen "The Mummy" before.

That was the last time either of them spoke in the past half hour, and even then the topic was brought up in relation with the mere act of turning on the TV to break another stifling silence. Sharona was almost in tears of joy to see HBO was playing this movie.

There were some reservations that the later images of sticky corpses and shambling mummies might rub all parties the wrong way, but then they should have been getting a call in the next five minutes anyway so it was a moot point. Then again Sharona almost found this showing appropriate.

She leaned back against the soft gray striped couch, looking over to see Alonzo still taking a stiff, forward-sitting position on the black easy chair; his elbows on his knees and grabbing his wrists. He looked beyond tense right now.

Both of them regularly looked at the phone on the table; a beige phone that still bore some coffee stains and ink marks. Alonzo plugged it into the jack and set it on the table 45 minutes ago; testing it once with his cell phone to be absolutely sure it still worked after the flight. He also brought some yellow notepads and some pencils and set them on the table. It looked like a cozy, yet exceedingly grim work station.

Sharona looked back to the TV to see Brendan Fraser checking his guns and Rachel Weiss' ditzy librarian Evie sitting across from him at a table. The next scene after this would involve the Medjai boarding the boat, though Alonzo would just see them as the scary looking guys in the black robes if the phone didn't ring in the next few minutes. Oh the wonderful innocence of seeing a movie for the first time.

She looked again at the clock on the VCR: 1:27. Hopefully the lawyer was more punctual about his calls than Liam ever had been. Now that seemed like such a cute quirk.

Her eyes trailed again to the long, plastic shelf above the TV at the series of cute yet creepy plastic toy figures of animals she had bought while in Japan. She had a small apartment with two other female officers at the consulate and wanted to stake as much of her own claim as possible in the side of her room. She took up the small hobby of collecting a few of these little guys, usually picking up one a month at a mall or little shop while on leave time. She had about 10 of them by the time she was discharged; all costing no more than hundred yen, all of them cute animals with big, anime eyes dressed in scary clothing.

Her eyes trailed now to the punk teddy bear with a plastic safety pin through its button nose, a rotting zombie mouse, a bloody nurse raccoon, the line continued. Her gaze then rested on a white cat wearing a black robe and holding a little plastic scythe; a kitty Shinigami.

She stared at it, seeing that kitty smile behind the cowl of a black hood. Maybe the concept of death was easier to face if it had plastic cat ears; maybe the reaper, the Shinigami, told you your time was coming with a little meow. Sharona tried not to laugh at the completely random thought.

A low electronic ring sounded through the apartment, causing her to jump slightly. Alonzo got up from his chair, flashing her a small, "I saw what you did" smile while pulling out a chair at the table. Sharona got up from her chair, putting the TV on Mute with the remote before going over herself and signaling for Alonzo to answer the phone.

Alonzo nodded and picked the phone off its cradle, hoping it was the attorney and not one of her friends; it would be a somewhat awkward situation in anyone else's home.

"Hello," he said.

"Yes, this is Travis Wells, esq.," the English voice on the other end said. "Is this Mr. Lawliet."

"It is indeed," Alonzo said, sitting at the table and nodding to Sharona. "My sister is here as well and we will be putting you on speakerphone in just a second."

Sharona walked to the table and pulled out a wooden chair, sitting down and nodding to Alonzo. Alonzo nodded back, pressing the "conference" button on the side panel of the phone and putting the cradle down.

"We have you on speaker now, Mr. Wells, everything coming through," Alonzo said, leaning closer to the phone.

"Crystal clear," Wells said from the speaker. "I trust both of you have spoken and you are settled in from your ends."

"Yes, Alonzo just arrived this afternoon," Sharona said. She hated working with these things. "We have spoken and are just waiting to hear what you have to say."

She was going to let him have a running start, though if he started talking about paperwork first off she was going to immediately steer him in the right direction.

"Well there is quite a bit, though I am going to start off with the most vital information first; the circumstances behind why we're here," Wells said.

Sharona sneered in approval; he wasn't that stupid. Alonzo gave her a nervous glance. She saw his hand on the table a few centimeters from hers, ready to grab it at any time the explanation got too rough.

"I do need to preface this conversation with a little background; I will explain this slowly and with a few of my own questions so I take the right approach with this matter," Wells said.

"That's fine," Alonzo said, passing a glance to Sharona who listened intently with a neutral expression.

"I have several other clients who are career contractors in the technology field like your brother," Wells said. "Many of them will simply take jobs locally to manage their home and families. Others will take several jobs abroad for a wide range of clients with many different specialties. Those clients with a latter approach are often young, single people with no families or they are divorcees and non-custodial parents. In such a situation, especially if they have family abroad, do not tend to tell their immediate families everything about where they are or what they are doing. It is none of my business regardless until for some reason it is made my business on a legal level."

"And you're saying Liam fell into that latter category," Alonzo said, really not surprised at all.

"He did," Wells said. "How often did you speak to your brother?"

Sharona and Alonzo exchanged another glance.

"Regularly though infrequently," Sharona said. "Typically we would get a call on Christmas and his birthday; occasionally he would call at other times, maybe visited a few times a year."

"We did have a rather unique situation," Alonzo said, looking at Sharona. Sharona gave no reaction though it was clear what he was about to say next. "It is a rather long story, but we had a family tragedy when Liam was six. As a result we lost track of him until he was 20."

"The death of your father, yes," Wells said. "Liam did tell me the circumstances, most dreadful. He did tell me when you reunited, so I do have some understanding of that particular situation."

Alonzo breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Sharona looked satisfied too, but slightly suspicious. Why would Liam tell his attorney about them; as a contact in case of an emergency obviously, Sharona felt like she answered her own question but she was open to more explanations later.

"How much did he tell you about his work," Wells continued.

"He would give a few details here and there, very vague generalities on clients he worked with," Sharona said, looking back at Alonzo. "Other than that he was never really that interested in talking about what he did."

Sharona tapped her fingertips on her knee, getting really aggravated with all the lead up and wanting him to get to the damn point.

"You did say that Liam was on a jobsite when he took ill," Alonzo said, giving Sharona a nod that communicated he knew how she was feeling.

"Yes," the attorney said, "and this are all leading to my next question which will be rather blunt. Were you aware that Liam has been in Asia for the past six months?"

Sharona's fingers stopped where they were, Alonzo's jaw slightly dropped and he gave a sigh.

"No we were not aware of that," Alonzo said, looking at Sharona. Both gazes communicated some irritation, though neither looked entirely surprised.

"Oh brilliant," Wells muttered with a profound sigh. "Then the reasons for this introduction are legitimate. Regardless Liam has been in Asia for the past six months working under contract with a company called Firelight Systems International based out of Hong Kong. The company mostly caters to the needs of British businessmen and women traveling in major industrial nations in Asia and they mostly utilize British contractors for whatever reason."

Sharona and Alonzo exchanged another glance, though both were now listening intently. Liam had obviously been up to something none of them were aware of and both wanted the full story.

"Liam was on retainer with the company for the past six months, all travel and living expenses paid and receiving a more than handsome commission," the attorney continued. "He has spent most of that time in Hong Kong, though he has also worked for clients in a number of other cities: Beijing, Seoul, Bangkok, just to name a few. Liam was at a jobsite in Tokyo when he collapsed.

"That's the part we want to hear about," Sharona said, not caring about politeness at this stage.

"I was in London at the time and everything I tell you is all second-hand information," Wells said. "At 5 a.m. on the 6 of November, I received a call on my cell phone from one of the chief executives at Firelight that Liam Lawliet collapsed around 8 p.m. Tokyo time on the 5 of November while on the job. Another contractor was with him when he fell, found he had no pulse and was not breathing, and immediately started CPR. No one recalls him being ill before he collapsed with no visible symptoms of any illness, no previous doctor visits, nothing. They called an ambulance and he was brought to the nearest local hospital, completely flatlined of you will. Several attempts were made to restart his heart, though he was pronounced around ten minutes after arriving in the emergency room."

Alonzo closed his eyes and sighed, a little put off by the matter-of-fact tone this guy took in describing his brother's death. He looked back at Sharona, who was giving the phone a calm glare.

"The contractors then called the main office in Hong Kong, who then contacted me," Wells continued. "I then flew immediately to Tokyo to manage the situation better from there, make sure your brother was in reliable hands. The hospital decided that Liam likely passed before the ambulance arrived, thus making his death unattended and contacted the police I assumed as a matter of procedure."

Alonzo shot a concerned glance to Sharona, brows furrowed in some alarmed confusion. Sharona put her hand up and nodded, communicating it was standard procedure. Any cases of sudden cardiac arrest in Japan, however, would mean increased police scrutiny. She understood the necessity, though it could mean Liam's body could be held for weeks.

"Because it was an untimely and unattended death, the police ordered a judicial autopsy," Wells said. "I stayed in Tokyo and made the decision not to make any announcements or contacts with the next of kin until Liam's remains were fully released by authorities and there were some definite answers. Such was the case as of late Sunday evening Tokyo time."

Sharona breathed a sigh of relief. The autopsy and investigative procedures only took a few days with the extra close attention, meaning any involvement by…a certain party was probably ruled out.

"I assume you have the death certificate and seen a copy of the autopsy report," Sharona said, trying to keep her voice from cracking.

This was a normal conversation for her at work, though they were not talking about another cadaver; they were talking about her little brother, though at this point they were one in the same. She did not want to fully make the connection.

"I have two copies of the death certificate in hand now; one in the original Japanese and the other an official version translated by the British Consulate," he said. "Liam mentioned to me once that you are fluent in Japanese, Ms. Lawliet. In that case I will make sure you have both copies."

"I would appreciate that," Sharona said.

"However, the autopsy reports of any person in Japan who has died of sudden cardiac arrest are being held for 10 days for further police investigation," Wells said. "It is apparently been a law for the past year."

"What for," Alonzo asked, more than a little perturbed. "Wait, let me guess; anyone goes into cardiac arrest, especially a seemingly healthy 25-year-old, the police want to take a look at everything to see if Kira was involved somehow."

The name just dug into Sharona's gut.

"It is a regulation in Japan, I have a friend in the government who informed us of that back in December," Sharona said. "It doesn't necessarily mean anything, only the NPA and…other investigators cannot leave any stone unturned. They were doing the same with death certificates, but they eased up on that particular rule."

"That's precisely what I was told as well," Wells said. "However Liam's remains are now in my custody and his body is currently in London. I have been in contact with the Canadian Consulate and arrangements are being made to bring his remains back to Canada. Any travel, arrangements, and related expenses will be paid for by his estate and my office."

"Mr. Wells before we get onto that conversation, I do need to ask," Sharona said. "Since you have copies of the death certificate what officially was listed as the cause and nature of death."

"The cause of death listed on the certificate is cardiac arrest, nature is listed as unknown" Wells said. "The authorities are being more than cautious at this stage. However when the full coroner's report is available I will be in contact with you and hopefully this will occur around the 16 of November. Whether this changes what is listed on the death certificate is another matter."

Sharona nodded and rolled her eyes. It wasn't much of an answer, though she understood the need for all the red tape even though it was unnerving. Involvement by Kira needed to be ruled out before any other information could be released; any seemingly random incident of cardiac arrest could be a possible lead to this massive case. It would take a close analysis of a coronary artery cross-section to determine or rule out a possible Kira killing.

The fact she was thinking this about her brother made her ill.

"We would like to see a copy of Liam's burial requests, though give us a description of what he wanted," Alonzo said.

"Of course, in fact at the moment he does return to the country I will be escorting his remains and will bring every single piece of paperwork with me," Wells said. "Liam requested that his remains be embalmed and he wished to be buried in the cemetery at St. Mary's Church in Nisku where I understand your parents and other family members are buried."

"That is correct," Alonzo said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"He has indicated he already purchased the deed for the plot next to your parents," Wells said.

Sharona and Alonzo looked at each other, eyes wide. Alonzo's jaw dropped and his fist clenched on the table. Sharona sighed hard and ran a hand through her hair.

"To be honest with you, Mr. Wells, we were not aware of that either," Alonzo said, now trying to keep his tone even lest he start yelling.

"Brilliant," Wells sighed over the phone, not sounding too happy about that development either.

"Liam apparently kept us in the dark about a lot of things and we will probably find out more things he didn't tell us," Sharona said. "Regardless that is all past tense now. Thankfully neither of us has needed that plot before now."

Sharona shot a look to Alonzo essentially telling him to calm the hell down and go with the flow. Alonzo nodded with a grimace and another hard breath.

"As I said, your brother's remains are in England and I am 24 hours away from having all the paperwork to bring him back to Canada," Wells said. "Liam's only request was to be buried at St. Mary's; he specifically said any details regarding the service, tombstone, published obituary, any of the like are your choice. As I also said before, any expenses will be covered. I can wire you any amount at the present and I will be more than happy to make out checks once I arrive in Alberta."

"Those are details my sister and I will have to discuss," Alonzo said. "We will get back to you when we have a more concrete plan. When would be the best time for you to accompany Liam to this area?"

"Essentially I am ready anytime you are after all the paperwork is filled out," Wells said.

"Regardless if the paperwork is still going to take around 24 hours, I think that is a good amount of time for my brother and me to discuss some matters, make a few calls," Sharona said. "I say we get back to each other within the next 24 hours and then we will have some idea of what arrangements are in place."

"I can only echo that," Alonzo said.

"Splendid," the attorney said. "Give me a call when you have a game plan and I will make arrangements on my end from there."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Wells for all you're doing," Sharona said. "I am sorry you had to find yourself in this somewhat awkward position."

"It is no trouble at all," Wells said. "It is my honor to do what I can to help your family in this time of great tragedy. Contact me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mr. Wells," Alonzo said, putting his finger over the "conference button. "You have a wonderful day now."

He pressed the button, picked up the receiver for a moment, and hung up.

His elbows met the table, face resting in his hands with a grunting sigh.

"I don't even want to get started," Sharona said, looking at the muted TV set and seeing Imhotep now nearly regenerated under a black robe.

"I don't blame you because I have no clue where to start," Alonzo, throwing his arms down on the table. "That little bastard."

"I don't want to fucking hear that either Alonzo," Sharona snapped, slamming her hand on the table and causing the phone to jump.

Alonzo stood up and threw his head back.

"How much other crap did he not bother to tell us, how much more are we going to find out," Alonzo said, voice rising. It was best to just let it all out; holding in anger would only lead to bad things. "Goddammit, he's spent the past god knows how long in Asia and apparently he has the police's attention. Then he went ahead and bought the plot next to mom and dad, and we learn this all in the span of, oh gee," he looked down at his watch, "20 minutes!"

"Jesus Christ, Alonzo, he was 25, he was a goddamned adult," Sharona snapped back. "He didn't have to call before curfew and like I just told you, the police inquiry is standard goddamned procedure. Am I happy to learn about that deed just now? No. Am I a little pissed that he said nothing to us about it? Hell yeah I'm pissed. But it's not like any of us needed it right now." Her voice caught on a sob. "To be honest the fact he got it in the first place scares the shit out of me, plus all of this prearrangements and burial plans and last will and testament. For a 25-year-old?"

"He goes to all that trouble to find us then doesn't tell us a damn thing," Alonzo said, his own voice cracking. "If Liam was really sick, you bet I wanted to know about it. If Liam had a problem with…"

"I don't want to hear this."

Alonzo wanted to go further, tell her to open her eyes; little brother was not ok, it takes one addict to recognize another. That would only lead to more yelling, though under these circumstances that was the worst thing they could do.

He put his hands behind his head and took a few deep breaths. Sharona's head was in her hand, a few tears streaming from her eyes she tried to keep at bay; she was sick of crying.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I…I am just scared shitless myself about what may have happened. But no one is going to know anything for a while."

Sharona nodded.

"We can speculate on what happened until the cows come home but that's not our job right now," she said, losing the fight against her tears. "Our job is to think of the best way to honor him and his memory. He didn't let us in on much but he let us in, that's all that mattered."

Alonzo walked back to the table, plopping down in his chair. The words just hit him in the gut; the best reality check he could have gotten in too long.

He reached across the table and rubbed her shoulder, a few stubborn tears coming down his own face.

-------

**London**

Travis picked another jelly bean from the large jar on his desk, throwing it in the air and catching it in his mouth. Lime this time, maybe the net one would be marshmallow; it was a random thought that kept him from the bottle of brandy across the room.

He sat up in his chair with a groan, looking down at the stack of paperwork he had already filled out that was going to get faxed to the Canadian Consulate within the next hour. He took another look at his gold Rolex; nearly 7 p.m., no one would really give a toss if he slipped out after his faxing was done.

A hand went into the jelly bean jar again, picking out a whole handful. Travis' eyes fell again on the black passport booklet on his desk; one of many documents from Wammy's House that had been under iron locks and complicated codes since 1988 but now sat upon his desk with the rest of his homework.

One hand picked it up, the other popping another jelly bean into his mouth. He carefully opened the cover for what had to have been the third time that night.

A grainy colored photo showed a young boy pouting for the camera, wide eyes framed by choppy black hair. Beside it was a mess of personal information all for a seven-year-old boy about to be whisked to another country to places unknown. There was fear in those young eyes pushed back by determination; it was like he was staring down the camera.

Travis looked at the photo for a few seconds before closing the passport and tossing it across the desk.

L never showed his face let along told anyone his name, and now Travis Wells, Tad, knew more about him than any other denizen of Wammy's House ever would.

The man in those documents now was just another deceased person; no more, no less. He was no longer L. L was now a floating title meant for one of two little brats at Wammy's House he had never met. Liam Lawliet, however, was in a cooler at a local funeral home waiting for his final resting place.

Liam Lawliet now needed alibis and a convenient story for his grieving siblings and little Tad was the one to give it.

"Damn you L," he muttered. "Damn you for putting me in this bloody position."


	9. Part 9

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 9**

**July 17, 2001**

**Nisku, Alberta**

The gray domes would always peek out of the trees. A few steps closer and the high brown and white walls of the building would follow them, another brown and white building beside it with the Orthodox cross on top of it.

Only a few older women were walking up the gray cement steps now and not the usual line in their Sunday best. There was no priest with a white beard and kind face greeting every parishioner as they filed into St. Mary's on a Sunday morning.

Now he was approaching this church on a weekday, now he was actually approaching on his own long legs and not on mom or dad's back or hobbling with child's steps as one of his siblings lead him by the hand. Sharona would do so gleefully, chatting the entire time while Alonzo would try to hide his whining from their parents.

L only looked at the steps now where he would be helped up them a small step at a time. Now he walked past them, making a great effort not to look at the ornate white doors and looked instead at the walls as he passed them.

His trajectory now was beside the walls and down a stone walkway toward the wider space dotted with stones of various hues of black, gray, and white. Large or small, upright or in the ground depending on what the intended wanted, or what their next of kin or main contact wanted.

He could still feel Sharona's hand clenching his tighter than she realized. Her grip was bordering on painful but for some reason he clearly remembered the soft itch of the lint from her tissue that had changed hands repeatedly. L's hand went to the neck of his white shirt on instinct, for a moment feeling the edge of the metal clip of his little bow tie pressing against his neck.

No, this wasn't really happening; these feelings were only memories. Yes, he needed to feel every one of them. It was almost like something was being purged, a poison finally oozing to the surface after fifteen years.

A few people carried on a conversation over a gravestone several meters away. One elderly woman laid flowers on another at the end of the row.

The last time L was here there were more people, many in the usual dark suits and proper dresses. Others wore t-shirts, bandanas, and black leather; some wore black armbands with "Carolyn" embroidered in pink surrounded by pink roses, a few made by a family friend who owned an embroidery shop. All of them carried a pink rose in hand, her favorite flower. Sharona leaned down and told him not to touch the thorns; they can prick you and hurt.

He could still feel a slight itch in his palm from one thorn he didn't watch, though he didn't realize he had pricked himself until after putting the flower on the casket. Dad saw a little blood and adjusted the grip on one crutch to grab his hand and get a closer look at it.

"We'll wash that off in the bathroom," he said.

The words vibrated through his mind, a hollow echo through the delicate wind going through the trees and the faint words from the conversation across the row.

He walked forward, already seeing a small black stone with only one small rosebush in bloom; someone from the old days must have kept up that plot. Mom and dad were social people; even after 17 years someone still remembered. It certainly wasn't her family; they disowned her long ago for divorcing the teacher son-in-law they approved and running off with a lowlife. L even doubted anyone in her family was alive now save for her children and grandchildren.

The words on the stone came more into view the closer he walked, even though his sneakers dragged across the grass like a little kid who wants to go no further unless pushed.

Carolyn Misaki Sands Lawliet

Born: April 30, 1948

Died: February 9, 1984

It was a pretty stone; black marble that was his height last he was here, but now went to the top of his knees.

Mommy got smaller; it was his first memory of how he dealt with what happened.

She was relatively tall, somewhat pudgy, and emanated the largest radius of warmth from anyone he had ever known. Now she was a small marble stone on a lawn. There would be no more midnight chats over tea when he had a hard time sleeping, he would not need to help her get the eggs or the ketchup out of the fridge on Saturday morning. Stones didn't do that; he didn't like this analogy too much.

It was a contrast to the gray stone to the right of it, a plainer one for a woman who specifically told her son she did not want to leave a memorial of flashiness.

Anja Sergeiyevna Vydrina Lawliet

Born: December 11, 1919

Died: January 16, 1983

L didn't remember this funeral; mom and dad probably left the kids at the neighbors' for this one. He did remember the smell of old jasmine perfume and the sleeves of a blue cardigan wrapped around his small body and the echoing words of the priests booming voice across the altar; something about the importance of charity.

He remembered another voice; tough but still kind:

"You need to pay attention, Liam. This is very good for you."

For some reason he remembered that embrace being less strong; the embrace of a fading women and not the strong grip of an old factory worker who refused to retire until she had no choice.

He recalled this was the last time they ever went to church; every Sunday they went to meet grandma. Then they stopped going, L knew the reason from the beginning.

L looked down the line, seeing more stones bearing the name Vydrina; the remains of a small portion of the family who escaped Russia for the golden shores of America. They were turned away at Ellis Island; too many Russians had come through that month. Halifax was a little more welcoming and Leduc became their own little territory within two years.

There were no other Lawliet's here; most of their graves were in another churchyard in Charlemagne, Quebec or else scattered across the US and Canada.

Alain Lawliet was not buried next to his wife; Anja buried him in spirit years before the bottle and mental issues put him in his grave in 1958 by way of a bullet through the temple. He was buried in a municipal cemetery near Quebec City; suicide was a prime way to avoid a proper Catholic burial.

L barely remembered anything grandma told him, though the subject of grandpa was one dad wanted to avoid. Occasionally he would hear "I want them to have it better than I did."

L hadn't decided whether to toast him or spit at him for that statement. His kids were like two princes and one princess to him though his was a thieves' kingdom. Dad sold drugs and hung out with biker gangs; L knew this even when he was five. After a few hacks into some databases, a mile-long rap sheet of misdemeanors, with some offenses dated for when they were kids, didn't produce any more reaction from L than an eyeroll.

It wasn't what dad did that bothered him, it was more when he did it with the endless questions of why. He wanted to give his children more than he had, though did so much to threaten everything. Thankfully these didn't result in immediate action from Family Services, they would be spared of that for a few years. Ultimately, however, all of them paid a high price but it was debatable if they had it better than him.

It was too tempting to think the answer to all of that was yes, though it depended. Sharona never wanted to speak about her time after dad died and there was probably a reason for that somewhere. Alonzo spoke of his foster mother and her life partner like they were goddesses.

L knew he couldn't answer that question just yet. Yes he was doing what he dreamed of doing since he was a little kid; and yes there were times he knew he was killing himself a little more every day by doing it. Ultimately the answer would be left for posterity.

His eyes fell on the grass before him; he really didn't want to look on the other two stones. The fact this would be the first time he ever saw them kept his gaze to the ground.

More poison was pushing to the surface and aching with every ooze, though it was only killing everything underneath it the more it remained.

L took a few steps to the side, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt himself get in to position. His eyes slowly opened, looking up at another couple looking at another grave across the cemetery. Slowly his gaze finally turned down to see two black marble stones; one behind the other but their connection clear.

They were knee-high though a little nicer quality. Both had insurance policies that took care of the basic burial expenses and tiny stones, but some of their neighbors took up a collection to get nicer markers.

L looked first at the stone behind it. It was felt to be more proper for dad to be buried next to mom, but the priest thought it would be fitting for her to at least be near him.

Sheryl Mary Amos

Born: October 6, 1954

Died: June 17, 1986

None of the kids really liked her at first; the usual "no one can replace mom so how dare you" mentality. After a few times babysitting them while dad was "at work," most completely warmed up; most except L. That took a little more persuading.

It was one game of checkers that did give him a better impression of dad's new girlfriend. By appearances she looked like a typical 80's bimbo; liked everything tight despite being a little heavier, wore ripped pink shirts almost all the time, the heavily sprayed blonde hair, the thick blue eye make-up. Looks were deceiving; she was a good strategist in this one game and was comfortable talking about Dickens with a five-year-old.

In retrospect she was another prime example of how appearance can be the best way to throw someone off their guard.

L allowed himself the mental image of her lying face first in the grass; the back of her head a bloody mess and every centimeter of skin not covered by a white tank top and blue denim shorts a shade of purple from every hit.

It only aches for a minute, let it all out. Time to move to the next one.

L took a hard breath, his gaze slowly shifting to the stone in front of him.

Emil Alain Lawliet

Born: June 5, 1951

Died: June 17, 1986

Beloved Husband, cherished father, and all around great guy.

One of his buddies had to have suggested that addition. L did have to smile a little at it.

Their neighborhood was a collective of close friends, bikers mostly but a whole assortment of average working class people. People would be over the house regularly, some of which dad probably did business but many who would just hang out.

There were many Saturday nights he would get up for a drink to find a circle of people gathered in front of their scratchy TV to watch the Oilers. The drugs of choice were beer and cigarettes; toking was probably done in back of the house and L had heard dad throwing out people for being loud enough to wake up the kids or being too drunk.

He was lying in a fetal position on the lawn in the center of a large red stain in the grass. One cheekbone was completely caved in, his favorite Oilers cap lying a meter away from him. A piece of his skull hung from his scalp; the kind of stuff no six-year-old should see but did.

There was no wake for obvious reasons. The funeral was held right at this church; Sharona said at the bar last year that Inspector Harrison took her and Alonzo to the service. Many people asked them why Liam wasn't there; though several conclusions were that he was too little.

No, Liam wasn't there, but Liam could have been there. He now recalled that the social workers did make the offer.

He didn't exactly reject it, he didn't exactly say anything and didn't for three weeks after. Instead he would stare at the wall in the institution, examining paint chips in the corner and hearing voices around him.

"I brought you some macaroni and cheese, Liam. You hungry? I'll just leave it over here."

"Do you want to talk about anything, Liam?"

"Hi, Liam, I brought some food. You must be hungry."

"What is your favorite cartoon, Liam?"

"Do you want to play checkers, Liam?"

"Liam I wish you would take more than a few bites."

"Liam I'm going to give you a little bath now."

"It's a beautiful day, Liam. Let's go outside."

"I don't mind cleaning this pan up, Liam, but it would be nice if you started using a real potty like a big boy."

"Good boy, Liam. I think you're getting better."

He never hated his own name more.

For some reason the first thing he said after three weeks was that he wanted a haircut. It was to the bottom of his neck when dad died; dad would just give him a little trim when it became too messy. This time he wanted it all gone; likely because it got in his way. He learned later the tradition of cutting locks of hair in mourning.

They smiled wide at this achievement. One of the male staff members cut it all while repeatedly saying "What a handsome little guy you are." He did a horrible job; it grew out choppy and uneven though he didn't mind that much. It gave him the confidence to start cutting it himself when he grew tired of the length; he could easily learn to style hair if he wanted but he really didn't want to.

L ran a hand through his thick black hair at the recollection…and the inevitable revelation and all the pithy positive statements that followed.

This was why he had to do be here; these stones were each a piece of how he got to this point. They each made up who he was now; where he went from here was another story.

Anyone else in his position would say a few words to the stones; maybe tell everyone he loved them through tears, tell everyone how much he missed them and wished they were here.

L instead slowly turned around, slowly walking away.

Reflection was something he tried to avoid whenever possible, though he had to note that he felt a little lighter already. The farther reaching effects of this would make themselves known in time.

One more thought crossed his mind that made him take one slight look back to confirm. Even after 15 years and despite how populous this cemetery was several plots directly beside dad were empty. Maybe the priest insisted they be kept open, odds were Sharona or Alonzo had been here again at some point; the reverend had to know Alonzo had children and at least some surviving Lawliet wanted to keep those plots reserved for future generations, or maybe there was a covenant on the deeds that only members of the Vydrina or Lawliet families would have those plots.

It was even more likely Sharona and Alonzo's policies on this matter were avoidance, or at least they did not make too much effort to memorialize. Maybe neither of them had been here since the funeral and L could not blame them for that. Then again relatively healthy 24 and 26-year-olds did not think on such things. A 21-year-old should not be thinking on such things either, though his circumstances were a little different.

L turned forward again, continuing his walk away from this sad, sad story with one lingering thought.

Maybe he should contact the church office tomorrow.

----------

**December 8, 2003**

**London**

"Mr. Wells," the female voice over the intercom said.

Travis rolled his eyes. Reginald Smith-Ellis' mounds of will arrangements were going to take another three hours to deal with; the last thing he needed was anyone interrupting him for anything. He pressed the button on the phone to at least see what his secretary wanted.

"What is it Victoria, I am rather busy" he said.

He'd always wanted to say something like that. Papa would page his secretary regularly for anything from documents to coffee and chastise her when she interrupted him doing something important. Now he had a secretary he could repeatedly refer to by name in an abrupt manner; it was like he had made it.

"Pardon, Mr. Wells," she said, that middle-aged whisky and cigarettes voice communicating how sorry she wasn't. "But there is a Mr. Wammy and a Mr. Leonard here to see you. They say it is rather urgent."

Travis' pen froze and for a moment he forgot what document he was signing.

There were very few Wammy's in London; who was out there was obvious. Who he had with him was rather obvious as well.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, dropping his pen. After a second he located his hand long enough to press the button on the phone again. "Victoria, send them in."

"Yes sir," his secretary said.

Travis collected a few of the scattered mounds of paperwork and tried to put them in some organized fashion. One hand shot into the large jar on the desk and snatched a few jelly beans; grape and red apple was a nice combination.

He put the two in his mouth as the door opened. Victoria, in her less boring brown dress, appeared in the doorway first. An elderly gentleman in a black suit and bowler cap followed; Quillish Wammy, the founder of Wammy's Home for Children with locations around the world. It was the simply titled Wammy's House in Winchester that brought him here.

Another man followed; Travis placed him in his 20's but the long sleeve t-shirt, baggy jeans, and messy mid-length hair made him look 15. The pronounced circles under his eyes just made him look ghastly.

Travis tried not to stare at him, but it could not be helped under the circumstances. He had never met L in person, likely because his middling rankings did not give him the privilege. The higher ranked ones did meet him, a hint he only got from B who would twitter to anyone he liked at the moment that he met L over tea.

Travis, Tad, was chosen as his favorite person for an hour; enough time to get the story and play one round of chess before B flicked a piece at hid head and left. Tad did ask Roger about it, more in the name of tattling than curiosity.

Roger denied B had ever had a meeting; he called the idea a preposterous fantasy from a clear troublemaker, but then Travis wouldn't be surprised if children had to sign some sort of confidentiality agreement if they did meet L. Loose lips sink ships after all, but then B was hardly one to stick to the rules; three brutal murders and a life sentence at Folsom Prison confirmed that.

Travis got up from his seat, offering a handshake to Mr. Wammy who returned it politely. "Mr. Leonard" then reached out and Travis returned, his grip reminding him of shaking hands with a dog.

"Would you gentlemen care for something to drink," Travis asked, making eye contact with his secretary.

"No thank you," Mr. Leonard said, "this will be brief."

Travis smiled nervously and nodded in understanding before waving a hand at his secretary to shoo her off. Victoria rolled her eyes behind her thick glasses and exited, closing the door behind her.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Travis said, motioning to the brown leather chairs in front of his desk.

Leonard pulled off his grungy white sneakers, setting them next to the chair. He then hopped on the cushion and bent his knees to a crouch. Travis would have been on the phone to building security if anyone else had pulled that, but he just took his seat behind his desk. The alpha wolf had marked his territory; it was obvious who would be leading this conversation.

Mr. Wammy removed his hat and kept his standing position behind Leonard, making it a bit clearer who this actually was.

"First I think it is only appropriate to congratulate you on opening your first office," Leonard…no L said.

He stopped, bug eyes trained on Travis. Travis just realized he was just paid a compliment and was given the time to respond accordingly.

"Thank you," Travis said with a nod and a smile. "This is fulfilling a dream of mine. My father was also a solicitor; I think he would be proud."

"Yes, now for the reason why we are here," L said. So much for small talk. "You have already met Mr. Wammy. I will not say directly who I am, though I will just say your initial interpretations as to my identity are correct."

Travis kept his polite smile against the thought that sounded like a squeak.

"We have been keeping an eye on your progress since you left Wammy's House last year," L continued. "You took on an impressive number of cases even as an apprentice and it seems your case load even now is rather large. You have proven yourself able at what you do" Travis smiled and nodded, ready to give another "thank you" but L made no pause. "That is why I would like to keep your services on retainer for a few special projects."

Travis didn't know what to think of this. A part of his mind protested while thinking of the mound of cases he already had to sort through and L had no small projects. The rest of him was skipping like a school boy.

"It is nothing needing your attention at the present," L continued with pointed look, seemingly reading his mind again. "I have several other solicitors on retainer in the United Kingdom that I use for other day-to-day work. You, however, already have close connections with Wammy's House and have been given advanced training in legal and police procedures while there. I would like to have someone in that circle with that kind of knowledge and connections. Other legal matters will likely pop up related to students and former students at Wammy's House, you are more than well aware of two examples of that."

"Beyond Birthday," Travis said with a nod followed by a fabricated shiver. "And poor A, God rest his soul."

"Yes," L said, expression not changing. "It would be helpful to have a solicitor who is already familiar with the affairs of Wammy's House and can manage such cases in an informed and highly discrete manner."

Meaning you open your mouth, you're screwed.

"I completely understand," Travis said.

"You will receive your usual retainer fee plus a generous compensation," L said.

Travis liked the sound of that even more.

"As I said, there are no cases at the present needing your attention," L continued. "Either I, Mr. Wammy, or a designated representative will be in contact with you when your services are needed."

Travis nodded, mulling it over a little. This sounded too simple, but the potential pounds were talking a little louder than any misgivings.

"I would like to have some paperwork on file and further discuss any particulars," Travis said. It was always best to play hardball no matter who the client was. "Though I am sure arrangements can be made."

"Good," L said, hopping off the chair. His long toes found their way back into one shoe and soon the other. "We will be back in contact with you soon regarding specific conditions and compensation."

Travis reached to the brass tray on the desk and picked up two business cards while rising.

"Don't hesitate to call if you need anything," he said, passing one card to L and the other to Mr. Wammy.

"We appreciate you giving us the time," Mr. Wammy said, reaching out and shaking his hand. "We know this is rather abrupt and you are a busy man."

"Thank you, sir," Travis said.

He then leaned a hand to L, who gave another limp handshake. L's hand then wandered into Travis' jelly bean jar and he took out a handful.

"You will hear from us soon," L said, turning around toward the door and opening it.

He walked from the room, Mr. Wammy putting his hat back on and following close behind and closing the door.

Travis stood for a second, then plopped into his chair.

What the hell did he just get himself into?


	10. Part 10

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 10**

**November 11, 2004**

**Edmonton**

_Liam Lawliet, 25_

_Liam Lawliet passed away on Nov. 5, 2004 after a sudden illness._

_Liam was born on Oct. 31, 1979 in Edmonton to Emil and Carolyn (Sands) Lawliet. He lived in Leduc as a child until the deaths of his parents. _

_He had traveled extensively, taking expeditions through Europe and Asia as a teenager. Liam last lived in London where he worked as a freelance information technology specialist._

_He was fluent in at least four languages and had a special interest in Japanese culture from his heritage. He was an avid tennis player, had an affinity for puzzles, a strong sweet tooth, and loved detective novels since childhood._

_Liam is predeceased by his mother in 1984 and his father in 1986._

_Survivors include his brother; Alonzo Lawliet of Toronto and his wife Margaret, his sister; Sharona Lawliet of Calgary, and two nieces; Kasey and Amanda Lawliet._

_Calling hours will be between 5 and 8 p.m. on Friday, Nov. 12, 2004 at Nicholson and Sons Funeral Home in Edmonton. Funeral and burial services will be held at St. Mary's Russian Orthodox Church in Nisku on Saturday, Nov. 13, 2004 at 11 a.m._

_In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in his name to Child Advocacy Services of Alberta._

Alonzo almost felt dirty reading this, but he could barely pry his eyes off the page and the few hundred words he and Sharona composed in roughly an hour. Actually it was more like 15 minutes; the other 45 or so were spent bickering over every word.

It was clumsy, inarticulate prose based on purely superficial details; it reminded him of a first grader's description of their dog but this time it was about a human…it was about his little brother. There was a lot of "he told me this" and "I think he liked that" and "we might as well add that if nothing else" but nothing definite and it was supposed to define his memory.

"I take it they ran it today," Sharona said.

Alonzo looked up, giving Sharona a calm glare. She glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the road, adjusting her rearview slightly and looking in the other lane to pass the elderly lady doing around 20 km below the seed limit.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," she said. "Jesus, grandma, get the hell out of this lane!"

"I'm surprised traffic's this bad," Alonzo said, sinking back in the seat. "Not only is it a holiday it's also not even 7 in the morning."

It was Remembrance Day, only slightly appropriate for what they were doing.

"Well jackasses don't take a holiday," Sharona said. "They're probably running speed traps all up this road, that can't be helping."

"We really aren't in a rush, Sharona," Alonzo said. "Mr. Wells will just have to cool his heels in the airport, I'm sure he can keep himself occupied."

Silence resumed its usual space between them as it had since last night. They talked about arrangements almost non-stop Tuesday, then they spoke with funeral home directors and a priest on Wednesday. Wednesday afternoon they moved their headquarters from Sharona's apartment to the Sheraton in Edmonton; commuting would be a pain and Alonzo wanted to get a room ready for when Margaret and the girls arrived.

Amid all this talk simple conversation snuck out but only got in the way, though they hadn't planned for when the bulk of the arrangements were done. Silence was only left at the worst moment; the moment when this was a few kilometers and less than an hour wait from being real.

Alonzo pulled his gray jacket tighter around him, trying to prepare himself for what he would see. Sharona spoke with the funeral director and made arrangements to see something else; Alonzo agreed at first but the thought of it now ate at him. Maybe this would be a good ice breaker and an opportunity to admit weakness. Admitting defeat was healthy; holding onto it lead to bad things.

"I've got to be honest with you, I can't join you after this," he said, trying to keep the crack in his voice from becoming a sob.

"I completely understand," Sharona said with a slow nod. "This is for my peace only; remember I said it would probably be best if you didn't."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but this isn't my arena," Alonzo said. ""I'll trust whatever judgment you make and I'll follow right along. I just…I don't need to…"

"It's not going to be pretty and don't think for a second I'm not going to be having any nightmares after doing this," Sharona said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. She was too exhausted for another fight.

"But you need to," Alonzo said. They had this conversation before and only now he was beginning to understand her side of it.

Sharona nodded, finally seeing a break in the middle lane and jerking into it. Alonzo sighed hard and closed the newspaper with a loud rustle.

"How many people do you think will recognize the name," he said.

Yes, talking about it is therapeutic; keep going, let it all out.

"I think we'd be pleasantly surprised," Sharona said. "Mom and dad had a lot of friends; there were a lot of people in our neighborhood. I think quite a few people might show up."

Quite a few people would show up to remember a six-year-old in a grown man's body.

"If it's in the paper it's probably online as well," Sharona said. "I'm sure someone else he knew will probably show up."

It was her highest hope right now; maybe a friend or old companion would show up they could bribe with dinner and drinks into telling them who their brother was. It was more likely than not; Liam had to have made some connections. Even if all those connections were overseas, maybe someone would call or email the funeral home or the church and ask about the situation.

Then again it could have been a fool's hope; maybe no one knew Liam, maybe no one even remembered him from when he was a kid.

Sharona veered into the right lane, the signs leading to Edmonton International Airport looming overhead like storm clouds.

"What time is Margaret coming again," Sharona asked.

Alonzo told her before they left but she needed to hear it…hear something again.

"Their plane takes off at 5, they should be here before 8," he said. "Mags is getting out of work early today, the kids are going to an after-school thing at church and she's picking them up from there."

"Sounds like a nice little activity," Sharona said with a smile.

Alonzo simply nodded, watching the sign for their exit coming into view.

--------

"You think that's him," Alonzo muttered, turning his head to the side.

Sharona almost jumped at the first sound of his voice. It was the first time she had heard any direct words in the past ten minutes; the passing voices and wheeling luggage of the airport put her into a lull. The complete lack of any conversation or even small talk contributed to that too until now.

She finally looked at Alonzo, seeing him subtly motion his head to the side while adjusting his glasses. She casually looked to the side, seeing who he was referring to, though a brief glance was somewhat disappointing.

"It fits the usual description but I doubt it," Sharona said. "He's probably a prep kid or even a rich missionary."

Sharona took another peripheral look, Alonzo following her gaze again at the man in the impeccably tailored hunter green suit and the brown leather briefcase. That gold watch that snuck out from under his cuff screamed money. The baby face framed by old-fashioned bronze rimmed glasses and the blow-dried mop of dirty blond hair, a style both of Chuck and Di's kids were pictured wearing, did make him look more like a boarding school brat than a certified attorney.

"Though that does seem like the type of lawyer Liam would have," Alonzo said, casually looking away.

Sharona did nod at this. There were fifteen-year-olds who were acclaimed surgeons, why wouldn't there me an eighteen-year-old attorney practicing somewhere? Then again maybe Mr. Wells had a case or a golf game that came up at the last minute and had to send a paralegal, or even an apprentice. She really would not be too happy if this was the circumstance. Mr. Wells said he had been Liam's attorney for five years, wither this was a stand-in or was older than he looked.

The young man was now walking up to them with a determined gait, shifting his briefcase to his left hand and approaching them with a smile.

"Mr. and Ms. Lawliet, I presume," he said, that accent and the tone of his voice now sounding familiar.

"Yes," Alonzo said politely. This should have been followed by "Are you Mr. Wells," but he really didn't feel comfortable assuming that.

"Travis Wells," he said, extending a hand.

Attempts to keep straight faces on both their parts were successful. Alonzo gave him a firm handshake with a "pleased to meet you."

"Mr. Wells we appreciate everything you're doing," Sharona said shaking his hand.

"No the pleasure is mine," he said. "Just know that I am here for your family during this difficult time."

"We definitely appreciate it, Mr. Wells," Alonzo said.

"I have already signed most of the paperwork and have fully cleared Customs," Wells said. "I do have a few more items of paperwork that do need to be signed, but all business should be done soon."

"The funeral home called us and said they would be a little later than they expected, though not past 8 is what they said," Alonzo said.

"Yeah they will give us a call when they are at the airport," Sharona said.

"That is manageable," Wells said with a nod. "These papers might take a while to process so the timing is perfect."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, round brass box that looked like an old snuff box. He lifted the top, revealing an array of jelly beans inside.

"Would you care for one?" he asked, showing the box to both of them.

Sharona and Alonzo gave their respective polite refusals, exchanging a subtle glance when his attention went to meticulously picking a green and yellow one from the box. Liam and this guy must have got along great.

He popped the jelly beans in his mouth and closed the top, putting it back in his breast pocket while thoroughly chewing and swallowing the beans.

"I do have most pieces of paperwork relative to his estate, though I would prefer to go over those after services are complete," he said.

"That is understandable," Alonzo said, looking at Wells.

He saw a few baggage handlers directly over the attorney's shoulder pushing some sort of cargo across the floor. Wells looked back, giving Alonzo and now Sharona a full view of what they were handling.

Alonzo got one glimpse of the rectangular wooden box and averted his gaze in an instant, looking at Sharona and seeing an expression of concern flashed in his direction. Sharona looked back onto the floor, seeing the box wheeled beside a desk in the terminal and the handlers looking in their direction.

It was a standard international crate on an airtray; the obvious shape was getting a few second takes from passing travelers.

This was officially real now.

Sharona took a careful look at it, wondering if his hair flattened out in flight and hoping he looked like he was sleeping.

She could just see him walking toward her, one duffle bag in his hand and leaving the gate while biting his thumbnail. She would run her hands through that thick hair, give him a huge kiss on the cheek, and tell him about things they could do for the weekend.

Now he had just passed the gate, but there would be no smiles or hugs from him. She would welcome him nonetheless. This time he was coming home for good, not flying in and flying out to whatever his hectic life awaited him. All that was left now was peace and a permanent rest back in his old home like he had wanted. That was one thought that made her smile a little.

The sound of "Ode to Joy" coming from Alonzo's jacket pocket made her shift her gaze. Alonzo glanced at both of them while pulling his phone from his pocket, one pained look going to Sharona as he turned around and checked the number.

"That's them," he said with a forced smile while taking a few steps away.

Wells looked at her with his own polite smile, his whiter complexion communicating more sympathy than words ever could.

--------

"You don't have to watch this," Sharona muttered to Alonzo.

Alonzo didn't look at her like she had hoped, eyes remaining on the hearse driver and his assistant wheeling Liam's temporary coffin to the black car in the parking lot. The driver stepped to the front and opened the back doors before reaching down and taking a grip on the side of the box. Sharona saw their lips moving but really didn't want to hear what they were saying.

"Did you frigging hear that," Alonzo whispered. "'I got no problem with skinny guys.' Jesus Christ, we're standing right here. After they get this done...."

"You're going to stay standing here and let them do their job," Sharona said. "They've probably got five or more other corpses of all makes and models waiting for them after this job and probably five more to haul out tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. You do their job for a while and don't tell me you wouldn't be cracking jokes."

Alonzo wanted to say if he were doing their job he would have more respect, but then he didn't even want to think about doing a job like that day after day. Just watching this was hard enough.

The two workers lifted the crate, giving various directions to each other as they maneuvered it inside the hearse. At last the crate was in and the doors slammed shut, leaving Liam's casket in view from the back window.

Turn around, Alonzo; Sharona was screaming at him in her mind. Jesus Christ turn around, look away.

Alonzo just kept staring at the hearse, watching it back out of its space and start pulling away. He had this look on his face like he wanted to chase after it, though his usual professional demeanor put that urge in check.

He finally turned around and looked at her but only when the hearse was out of sight around the terminal. Sharona took a few steps closer to him, glancing over at Mr. Wells off to the side though he also looked more interested in the departing hearse and the jelly bean case in his jacket.

"Are you going there now," Alonzo whispered, glancing at Mr. Wells as well though not seeming to care what he was doing.

Sharona nodded.

"In a few more minutes, I'll give them a head start to get things settled," she said. "Why don't take Mr. Wells out for breakfast, or maybe go out and get coffee. It might be a nice gesture."

"I think it might be a nicer gesture if we take him out together later, buy him lunch," Alonzo said.

"I might be a little while and he just stepped off the plane. I think it might…"

"Sharona," Alonzo's smile slowly straightened and his voice took a nervous edge, "I really don't want to be alone with that guy right now."

"Alonzo I really don't want you to be alone right now, period," Sharona said.

She fixed him with an almost scolding glare. Alonzo took a hard breath and looked up at a departing plane.

"I told Anne and Pat I would call them," he said, "Give them the word on when services were finalized."

Sharona stared at him, really not sure of what to make of this. The thought of losing track of her last brother scared the hell out of her, especially a brother who once sought therapy by way of too many glasses of what looked good at the time. There really wasn't a damn thing she could do right now; he was a grown man after all and with a lot more people to answer to if he slipped up.

He did say he would call his foster mother Anne and let her and her partner of 25 years, Patty, know when his brother's arrangements would be made. It was the one time hearing about them didn't turn her stomach. The two were some of the sweetest ladies she had ever met; they still lived in St. Albert, just a highway ride away, and ran their bake shop. The fact it was painful to even hear about them was more Alonzo's doing; Alonzo's way of talking about them as if to shove his more "normal" upbringing in her face, or so it felt.

Alonzo absolutely needed them right now and Sharona needed to know he was at least in the phone presence of a responsible individual. It should have been ridiculous to think he needed babysitting, but in her mind he absolutely did. She also had someone she could call later and ask if Alonzo really talked to them and how he sounded when he did.

"I am going to hold you to that," she said.

Alonzo nodded; he got the message loud and clear.

"I personally would prefer to get to my hotel and have a nap," Wells said from the side. Sharona and Alonzo looked over and saw he was now within centimeters of them. "It was a rather arduous flight."

Sharona and Alonzo exchanged a quick glance. Alonzo was now a little nervous of what he heard but then they weren't exactly doing this in private. Sharona couldn't have cared less.

"Of course," she said.

"Perhaps later this evening I could take you to dinner, break as little more of the ice as it were," Wells said with a polite smile.

"I think that could be arranged," Alonzo said. "My wife and kids will be here around 8, maybe something before then."

Sharona just nodded along, wanting this little chit chat to be over so she could get her next plans underway.

"Splendid," Wells said. "I already have a car rented so I can get myself to the hotel."

"I'm going back to the hotel too," Alonzo said casually, feeling Sharona's glare cut through him.

"I'll take you back," Sharona said.

"It's fine, I'll just grab a cab," Alonzo said, not even looking at his sister before walking across the parking lot back to the terminal.

Sharona stared at him, her stomach tightening.

No, he's an adult, he knows his responsibilities; she told herself. I can't be there to baby-sit him and no, I can't start getting paranoid either.

"I assume you are going to the funeral home," Wells said.

"Yes," Sharona said with a hard sigh. "I have to make a few more arrangements before tomorrow."

Travis nodded, watching her reach into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. She looked positively harried; they both did. Clearly he had just been dropped in the middle of something, but that really wasn't his business and L wouldn't have wanted him to make it his business. Then again L didn't operate like any normal human being, but that was all past tense now.

"Just give me a call when you get an idea for a time," she said, opening the pack and taking one out.

"I certainly will," he said, taking a few more steps away. "And don't hesitate to call me for anything either."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely relieved he was remaining so polite at least in appearance.

She unlocked the driver's side door and practically threw herself in the seat, pushing in the lighter while closing the door.

Travis turned around and walked in the direction of the terminal. A nice nap and some brandy sounded good right about now.

---------

They had painted the walls a shade of dark blue that went nicely with the wood paneling of the hallway. It was décor not typically seen in a funeral home, which made the atmosphere more comfortable.

Sharona glanced at Mr. Nicholson, one of the sons in Nicholson and Sons, walking beside her before turning her gaze down the hallway. She wanted to make a remark on how nice their potpourri plug-ins smelled, but it might sound like a back-handed compliment. The undertone of candles and embalming fluid hung in the air with the scented oil; she would know those smells anywhere.

Funeral homes weren't supposed to smell like hotels and despite how much this place was dressed up it wasn't exactly a bed and breakfast, or at least their clients weren't eating. Somehow this made a smile threaten to break loose. Liam would be disappointed they weren't serving any chocolate chip pancakes in the morning; she could just see his hint of a pout at the news.

"Will you want a few minutes alone with him," Nicholson said softly as if any word above a whisper would break her.

"Yes," she said, "if that's okay."

"It most certainly is," Nicholson said, rubbing his bushy grayish-black moustache. "As I said before he was very well preserved. Traditional burial practice in Japan is immediate cremation and I have heard embalming is not common. I assure you, your brother was in excellent hands."

Sharona nodded, but she prepared herself as best she could for what she was going to see. It wasn't going to be the sight of him curled up on the couch sleeping; he was dead, that was it. If he looked a little closer to normal that would help this next step, but she was taking it regardless of how he looked.

The last time she saw him was in August of 2003; she couldn't just put him in a box and send him away after that time. She also didn't want her last view of her brother to be when he was caked in make-up and in a suit. He made no instruction as to how he wanted to be dressed when buried, though maybe seeing him would give her an indicator.

No, those weren't the only reasons why she wanted to do this; her professional instincts were begging for one look. The autopsy and basic preparations had already been done; she just needed to see surface details for herself before they mad him presentable. This was what she was really holding on to even though it pained her to admit it.

There was the one thought she tried to push away amid all the preparations and all the reasoning; this was going to be the last time she would see her brother the way he was. This was going to be the last moment she would ever have alone with him.

No, maybe that was the wrong thought. She would see him again tomorrow at the wake, though this time it would be in a much warmer environment and surrounded by at least one other person she could hold onto maybe more. It would be the beginning of a celebration and not a moment of cold reasoning walling away surging emotions.

She glanced at Mr. Nicholson again, who just kept his eyes ahead. Small talk might be considered in bad taste and she could respect him for that, though things were too quiet.

Sharona looked down at the gray carpet and the brown wood paneling against it.

A part of her memory was now looking at a shiny green linoleum floor, white wall on the sides broken by aluminum support bars. Her new shoes were slipping on the tiles, she was afraid she would drop the small potted flower in her hand.

She looked at her hands, seeing them empty. The floor was carpeted again. She gave another glance to Mr. Nicholson and thought of something to ask him just to break the silence.

_Alonzo was on the other side of him; they made this almost a race until dad grabbed them both by the shoulders and told them to slow down. Other people were here, some sick people who would not want to get knocked over. They were close to the room anyway._

"And we just turn around here," Mr. Nicholson said, lightly touching her arm to guide her around the corner into another part of the hallway. She hated it when older men thought they could touch a woman in any way and it was acceptable.

She pulled a few inches away from him, but now the idea of being touched by anything was disgusting. It was now that Sharona realized she was shaking.

"_You guys excited," dad said. _

_Sharona didn't remember what she said; it was probably an inaudible squeal of some kind._

"_Now when we get in, I don't want you guys jumping all over mommy," dad said. "She's very tired._

"_Can we hold him, daddy," Alonzo said, Sharona soon asking the same thing while jumping up and down._

"_I think you can do that, but not for long; he's very tiny and you're kinda small yourselves."_

"_I'm not small, I grew remember," Alonzo said somewhat indignantly._

_Dad just patted him on the head for that and continued on. _

It looked like they were on the other side of the building now, the disappearance of the carpet, exposing sealed wood floors, and the door at the other side was a prime indicator of what the next room was. Mr. Nicholson took out a set of keys from his pocket and put one in the lock. He then stopped and looked at Sharona.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked.

"We'll find out," she replied.

Nicholson nodded and slowly pulled the door open. The smell of formaldehyde and cleaning solution met her nose immediately.

_Sharona lingered around the corner for a moment, but slowly peeked into the room._

_Mommy was sitting up in bed wearing a blue flowered nightgown under a blue bathrobe. She must have hurt her hand because there was a bandage over it, maybe she would ask her later but there was more pressing business. _

The usual table was right in the middle of the room, empty and impeccably cleaned. Nicholson walked to the side and a metal wall with small doors all over it.

_The business was beside her and a squirming blue blanket visible from over the top. _

She froze for a moment, her stomach tightening. A few breaths later she took those few more steps forward.

"_We got you a flower, mommy," she said, raising the little blue pot high._

"_I'll take that," dad said, carefully lifting it from her hand. She pouted a little._

"_Your job now is to go say hi to your little brother," mom said. _

_Sharona's head whipped in the direction of the cart._

Nicholson stopped at one door and opened it with a creak, a white sheet now peeking out from the blackness of the cooler.

_She slipped into a position, Alonzo going one side, her going the other. They slowly moved forward, eyes locked on that blue blanket and the shape of a little leg kicking under it._

She could almost see those huge feet laying upright under the sheet. He slowly pulled out the tray, revealing a fully covered form. Nicholson gave her another glance as if fully preparing her. She simply nodded.

He nodded back, grabbing the end of the sheet.

_Mom leaned over and pushed a little of the blanket aside. _

The first thing she saw was that mane of black hair, thick and wild as always.

"_He's got a lot of hair," Alonzo said, almost in wonder._

"_I thought babies were bald," Sharona said._

_If any of them wanted to argue the point, the words were sucked out of them when they inched closer and saw his face._

Sharona closed her eyes for a second; her heart was pounding in her ears. She took a few deep breaths, clearing her head, calming down. She wouldn't burst into tears, she wouldn't faint, she wouldn't go hysterical.

At last she opened them, looking right down where she was before.

As expected, her stomach jerked at the first sight, but she quickly calmed and merely started to observe.

Liam's eyes were closed, his expression peaceful…no almost blissfully so. She swore she saw a hint of a smile.

His skin was that grayish blue complexion typical of a corpse, the circles around his eyes now profound. She couldn't tell if that was an effect of death or if the circles had gotten worse in the past year.

"Could I be alone with…" she started.

"Of course," he said, moving away from the cooler.

She walked further up, eyes locked on Liam and hearing the faint shuffling of Nicholson's loafers across the floor until they disappeared with a door closing.

The quiet almost assaulted her ears but the faint whir of the cooler's motor was more than welcome.

Sharona inched closer, now directly over him. One hand slowly reached out, one finger lightly caressing his forearm; skin ice cold but still relatively soft. She looked at his arm, seeing a puckering wound inside his elbow.

Sharona fell into business mode, gently grabbing his arm and moving it further in her direction to get a better look at the wound.

Japanese doctors and EMT's tended to put the IV line on the inside of the forearm. Her eyes trailed across his bare chest to the incision and the line of staples down the center of his chest. They used a butterfly incision, maybe thinking it would reveal more about his condition.

She looked carefully, seeing a few more small puncture wounds from repeated injections by a cardiac needle. Another inspection showed the usual burns from attempts at defibrillation. They worked hard to try to bring him back. He was gone anyway but she had to applaud them for trying. She would have to find out what EMS service responded to him so she could write them expressing her appreciation.

It was only now she realized he had the same physique he did last she saw him at the cabin on Lake Ontario, and that time she did see him with his shirt off. He was still very thin, though with excellent muscle tone. There was no atrophy, no further emaciation. If he wasn't that healthy before it didn't look like he deteriorated at all.

One other nagging question remained, one that had been in the back of her mind since last summer that she had to have the answer for now. Sharona pushed back the sheet a little more on his torso, exposing that long scar she saw across his side.

It was definitely a surgical scar in the position for the kidney, but it was that little scar beside it she had to get a better look at. Liam told her he had been in an accident; this scar told otherwise.

She gently lifted his side more in her direction. The other, smaller scar was indeed there around his ribcage. Her thumb and index finger measured the size; a few millimeters of difference could determine if it was a small incision for a scope or the width of a knife blade.

It too wide to be for a surgical scope, it was the perfect width for a thin blade. She crouched down a little more, getting a better look at the scar despite the dark room. It was a little deeper, as if it has been pressed in altogether and not slowly cut in.

Sharona bit her lip and let out a sigh; Liam had been stabbed. The small scar was from the initial stick, the other scar was to repair the damage…and she only knew this after examination and not him telling her. No, he didn't just keep it from her; he outright lied about it.

She could completely understand Alonzo's frustration now, maybe even his resentment but she didn't want to go that far. She could be angry at him as much as she wanted for this one little thing, possibly everything, but there was really nothing anyone could do about it now. The circumstances were final.

Sharona would have almost welcomed a pile of more lies from him; at least he would be able to speak them.

Her clinical control was slowly slipping, her hands taking more of a shake and her eyes slowly trailing up his body.

Somehow he actually did look like he was sleeping; his face was completely relaxed, mouth in a small smile. She could tell by the small contusions at the corners of his mouth he had been intubated and coroners didn't try to manipulate facial expressions. His face must have relaxed into that expression when the tube was taken out.

_His little mouth gave a wide yawn, eyes blinking open and looking at the two strangers leaning over him._

Her hand fell to her side, crawling out and slowly wrapping around his. She lifted his hand up, both of her hands now wrapped around it.

_She carefully put a finger out, lightly touching that little palm. Tiny fingers wrapped around hers in a tight grip._

She was clenching his hand now, staring into that peaceful face. She swore she saw his eyes flutter a little, but she knew better. He was completely still, cold. She felt no pulse on his wrist, no twitching of muscles.

One hand broke free and moved to his face, the side of two fingers gently caressing the side of his face and moving into his hair.

"_Hi there," she whispered. "I'm your big sister."_

_He smiled a little in response._

The back of her throat was tight, the hot pressure of impending tears behind her eyes. She carefully ran a hand through that thick hair.

"Welcome home, little brother," she whispered, her voice cracking with a sob.

_She leaned into the basket_

Placing a kiss on his cheek as the tears poured down.


	11. Part 11

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

**Part 11**

**November 12, 2004**

**Edmonton**

Every time he visited, he nearly always would wear a long-sleeved white t-shirt and a baggy pair of jeans at some point during the weekend.

Alonzo advocated for a suit, but couldn't hold to that at all though he and Sharona were open to some compromise.

Liam's final outfit would be a long-sleeved white t-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans they found in the clearance rack at Winners yesterday. They got the black blazer at Sears; $65 split between them was well worth it.

Sharona was adamant that his hair not be brushed out and neatened up too much; he rarely made any attempt to tame it when he was alive why should that decision be made for him now. It was a little neater but those black spikes still stuck out against the white pillow and the white satin lining.

Both of them agreed the black circles around his eyes should be concealed though in a subtle way. The beautician did a phenomenal job; Liam didn't look caked in make-up but the black circles were essentially gone, they showed faintly but were not as glaringly obvious.

The mental trick that his eyes were going to flutter open any second was a hard effect to talk oneself out of.

Alonzo reached a shaking hand into the casket, the tips of his fingers running through Liam's hair. Sharona gently put her arms around him, feeling his breathing heavy and his entire body trembling. His knees buckled, Sharona's grip tightened. Alonzo let her support him, the other hand on the edge of the casket keeping him upright and giving him some semblance of stability.

He took a few harder breaths and slowly leaned into the casket, gently kissing his brother on the cheek.

"I love you so much, little brother," he whispered in a choking sob.

Alonzo's words melted into tears. Sharona gradually pulled him away, his arms went around her and he buried his face in her shoulder. Sharona held him tightly. Her tears were softer; she had her acceptance already.

She felt a pair of hands close to her face and knew Margaret had put her hands on her husband's shoulders; the shift in Alonzo's step indicated she was leaning against him. Sharona kept her embrace for a few more seconds, gradually pulling away and letting Alonzo turn around and fall into Margaret's arms.

Kasey looked up at him with concern, Amanda was looking away yet they both kept their path to the casket.

Sharona still didn't know if it was best for them to be here; this was too close a view of death for children that age. Margaret insisted she had a long talk with them about this, gauging if they could handle being at the wake. Sharona could buy that but Margaret's offhand remark about "they learned in Sunday school that he is really with God," grated on her for some reason.

The girls approached the casket, the lip was a little under eye-level for them. Sharona kept half an eye on Alonzo and half an eye on her nieces in case any intervention was needed here.

They gazed at their uncle; Sharona saw no tears, no red eyes, no tightening facial features. Morbid curiosity was there instead, which was normal. They were probably waiting for him to wake up, or maybe observing; this is what someone looks like when they're dead. Sharona remembered having the same reaction seeing mom for the last time and she was also their age.

Amanda took a little purple purse off her arm and opened it, her and her sister reaching in. Margaret mentioned they had read about Ancient Egypt and how the dead would be buried with things they loved in life. They wanted to give him something small; Alonzo made no protest and Sharona thought it was a fine idea.

Sharona took a few steps closer. Amanda pulled out a small piece of paper from her purse; Sharona took a closer look and saw it was a drawing. Kasey and Amanda's contributions could both be seen, Amanda drew more like someone her age while Kasey practiced a bit more. Colored pencil versions of both girls stood under a rainbow, both holding hands with a smiling person with long black hair and a white shirt and jeans.

Kasey carefully put it in the side of the casket, taking care not to touch Liam. Both hands went back into the purse, each pulling out a Tootsie pop. Both Tootsie pops went into the casket at the same time, both hands careful not to make any contact with him.

Sharona felt tears running down her face. She took a few more careful steps, gently putting her hands on their shoulders. The girls looked up and both leaned against her.

Sharona reached in and picked up the drawing.

"Let's make sure he doesn't lose this," she whispered, putting it inside his jacket. "Now pick up the pops, it's all right."

The girls picked up the pops with no hesitation. Sharona gently lifted his folded hands and nodded for the girls to put them in the space; it was okay for them to touch him. She then put them back down; two colorful wrappers rested against his shirt, two lollipops from his nieces now in his hands.

Sharona put her arms around the girls, slowly coming to one knee to get closer to their level. They wrapped their little arms around her, looking back into the coffin.

"He brought us lollipops every time he visited," Amanda whispered in her ear like sharing a deep secret. "He said 'This is just between us' because mommy doesn't like it when we have candy and its not Christmas or Halloween. And we would sit in the living room and eat them, or by the swing set if it was summer."

Amanda's voice was cracking and Sharona could feel Kasey's first sob and a teary cheek against her face.

"You hold on to those memories," Sharona said, clutching them tighter. "Your uncle may be gone physically but he will always be in your hearts."

The three kept their positions for another minute. Sharona felt footsteps and looked up to see their father approaching them; eyes still red and puffy but ready to be with his girls. Alonzo put arms around them both. Gradually they pried away from their aunt and wrapped their arms around their dad.

Sharona slowly stretched to a standing position, running fingers through both girls' hair. She met Alonzo's gaze, one of the warmest looks they had given each other since this whole thing started passed through the barriers.

She gradually pried herself away from her nieces, looking back through the room. A few more people milled around. Margaret stayed close to Alonzo and the girls.

Dave Sayers' linebacker physique and horrid beige suit made him stick out a little, though he was a beacon of light. Her ex-husband was keeping an understandable distance under the circumstances, but periodically those green eyes would meet hers in a warm look that seemed to say "how are you doing." She would look back at him and smile as if to say "I'm doing."

He was awesome for being here in the first place. He and Liam only met once during the first Christmas when the whole family was together. A wall of tensions and the divorce followed, though Dave was still here for her; he was just a great guy like that.

Anne Riley and Patty LaFreniere stayed close to Alonzo though there were few hugs or pats on the shoulder like they usually smothered him with. He spoke to them a few times, each time eyes puffy red and the words barely coming to him in the midst of this hell. They kept a distance, which he infinitely appreciated. He was just glad they were there for him, though he would need to work this all out himself.

Other faces popped in; faces she had known since childhood that had either grown into adulthood or become lined with age. Megan McCafferty was one of the first; she would know that curly red hair anywhere. She was now Megan Collins, she told her than between hugs; she worked as a high school English teacher in Edmonton, the three boys were at their grandma's.

Edith Riley, the older lady from next door was there too; a little grayer but a little more put together. She still lived in Leduc, but the old trailer park was now condos; she got a decent discount on rent for moving in.

Danny and Jessie Rodriguez, a few of dad's old biker pals, came in wearing bandanas and gaudy jewelry with their respective suit and black dress. They gave out hugs all around with smiles, though one glimpse at Liam made Danny's eyes well up.

About ten people came in they recognized from the old days; all faces that somehow seemed like warm nostalgia for Sharona and Alonzo both as opposed to memories of a horrible past left buried.

They simultaneously saw a tall, stocky man walk into the room. He shaved off that bushy moustache years ago but they would know that warm face anywhere. Sharona was the first at the front of the room, meeting gazes with Gus Harrison and greeting each other with a huge hug. Alonzo gradually walked to the front of the room to give him a warm handshake.

He treated them like his own kids after dad was killed. Fourteen years later, six spent in retirement, the former Inspector Harrison was here for them again. Between the idle chatting and the condolences, it almost felt like more family was here. Sharona would have a beacon of hope, though Alonzo pulled further to the center of the room after he arrived.

Soon the arrivals slowed to a trickle then stopped by the time Travis Wells appeared around 7 wearing a smart black suit and an appropriately grim expression. He gave Sharona and Alonzo polite greetings but mostly kept to himself.

By then all pleasantries were spent. Sharona and Alonzo had been greeted with the usual "I am so sorry," "this is a true tragedy," "I'm here for you" mixed with other greetings. There came a point where the reunion was over and it was clearly sinking in for people why they were there.

Both of them rehearsed their own answers to all the usual questions the night before; they even compared notes for a minute after dinner.

The questions were only inevitable and the answers were as ready as they could be.

"He went into cardiac arrest while working."

"We think he may have had a heart condition."

"I'll be honest, he was mostly overseas and he was very private."

"It was a surprise. The things you never know I suppose."

"It's one of those things that makes you appreciate life more."

The questions were uncomfortable though the gradual lack of questions was even worse. The more people saw Liam the less they seemed to be asking. The more people saw Liam the more they were making some of their own conclusions. Sharona and Alonzo didn't want to listen to the whispers off to the side and in the hallway but they were hard to ignore.

"He didn't look very well. Even here you can tell."

"Oh God was he thin."

"Look, they put make-up on him but those really look like huge black bags. That's really not a good sign for someone his age."

"I can't imagine life was easy for him after Emil died."

"Oh God, that's right, he was the one who found…oh dear Lord."

"Poor guy. Going through something like that really takes its toll on anyone let alone a little kid. You try to ease the pain any way you can."

Observations gradually mingled with more inevitability. So many people would put a hand a few feet from the floor to illustrate how tall he was last time they saw him. Sharona and Alonzo would join in on a few reminiscences with some pithy stories or their own or flushed cheeks when they were part of the story.

Travis just stayed off to the side and quietly observed. He didn't plan to stay here long lest he get pulled into the mix too. Eventually he would have just been the cold lawyer looking out for his share of the estate. Not like that particularly bothered him, it was a good excuse to keep his distance and observe...the irony of the whole situation.

He gradually walked over to the casket, feeling more of a knot in his stomach than he expected. The last time he saw this man he was crouched in a chair in front of his desk, now here he was in a suit jacket surrounded by white satin and mahogany.

Here lies the World's Greatest Detective, cut down by a killer he would never catch in his last case he would never solve. Or maybe he had solved the case; maybe Kira stood in front of him with a bow before he killed him.

That was another matter Travis would have to deal with, though at a later time. There was a script to follow after all written by none other than L himself. How many other scripts were there out there for how many other people? Travis knew of his own. The successors would get another exactly one month from the moment Quillish Wammy activated the system; he did not want to be there for that one. Maybe Roger was getting what he deserved by having to deliver it.

Though what the hell had he done to get this one; the question floated in Travis' mind every day. He knew the answer to that question and L himself told him; he was convenient. He was an alumnus of Wammy's House and a solicitor, the perfect candidate. The possibility he would have been groomed for this role since the moment he arrived at Wammy's House was one that went through his head often and had to be shut out. Anything was possible in L and Wammy's world including denial.

Travis inched closer to the casket, getting a better look at the body of the man all of Wammy's House idolized. No one else from Wammy's House would dare to be here, that would go against the script. Here he was, little Tad; the boy chosen to be here with L in his final moments above ground.

Maybe he was meant to be the official mourner; he liked that title a bit better.

Travis gazed at the body in the coffin; the true face of L, the man himself. Now he was surrounded by old ghosts he probably never cared about and this handful of blood relatives he seemed to value. Maybe they were an anchor point in reality for him; people to whom he was merely Little Liam, the eccentric younger brother. Maybe it was an exercise in roleplaying for him, or perhaps a way to hone his undercover skills.

Regardless, this was where he wanted to be in the end and these were the people he wanted surrounding him. Perhaps this was for his loving siblings or perhaps this was to bring closure for himself. What any orphan at Wammy's House wouldn't give to make peace with the life he had before? In death, the Great L was a shining ideal of completing that circle. That is if this all meant anything to him.

He looked down at his watch. 8 o'clock, he had lingered at this soiree longer than he intended though all the better to look supportive and truly interested. Travis looked into the crowd to see most people had dispersed.

A man in a suit Travis had not seen before now spoke with Sharona and Alonzo. He saw nodding from both the siblings and saw all of them taking a few steps closer to the casket. Travis slid back a few paces to blend with the scenery and get out of the way. He knew what was happening now and a little distance was needed.

He nodded at the siblings; Sharona gave him half a smile.

It was nice he was still here. Mr. Wells only described Liam as a business associate over dinner last night, though it was clear this whole thing struck him hard in some respect. Or maybe he was watching over his client's investment. By now the idea that Liam had instructed him to be here was not so far-fetched nor was it offensive; Liam made so many other plans for after his death, what was one more.

Alonzo's gaze remained in the coffin. He was emotionally and physically exhausted; it would take this one last step to finally be ready to move onto tomorrow's service and everything else in the coming days.

Sharona gave him a calm smile and put a hand on his shoulder before looking in the casket herself.

Mr. Nicholson put a hand on the open lid, looking at them both and letting them have a moment. At last both looked at him and nodded.

"See you on the flipside, Sensei," Sharona whispered.

The lid gradually came down. Sharona and Alonzo savored that last look at their little brother as the casket finally closed.

-----------

**Winchester, England**

Roger looked back behind him again; somehow always feeling like some small child was behind him who would see what page he was looking at.

He forced his gaze back to the computer while shaking his head. Paranoid rubbish.

Besides the door was locked and only he had the specialized key to open it no matter how much those brats tried to pick the lock. He did ask Quillish to put in a mechanism that would deliver a small electrical shock to whoever tried to meddle with it. Quillish laughed at the suggestion; better for them to get out their natural curiosity, the frustration would be punishment enough. Old bastard was always too soft on them.

Just the thought made his stomach turn.

His hand reached in his pocket again, pulling out his cell phone. He needed a cold reminder of his duty periodically over the past week; it kept him from tearing up like a woman or an overly sensitive school boy.

The phone opened. A pressed button later a series of numbers appeared on the bottom of the screen.

23d10h25m37s

The number appeared instantly on his phone with a small vibration in the wee hours of November 6. He was working on some reports on some new arrivals when it was sent; he had to stop working for a moment and take some time to breathe.

This message only meant one thing; something had befallen Watari or L, possibly both. It was a message tied to an emergency signal that went out to other associates strategically placed in and around Tokyo.

There was a protocol to follow and his was uneasy silence as the numbers counted down. There would be no official word until they reached zero, though it was as good as confirmed.

An emergency fax put out by the Board of Directors on November 8 confirmed his worst fear:

"Quillish Wammy dies at 71 after sudden heart attack."

Details were predictably scarce, though the gears were in motion.

It took a little more searching for one final confirmation he had a feeling he might find given what he was told about L's relatives.

The Edmonton Journal provided that yesterday:

"Obituaries: Liam Lawliet, 25."

The term "sudden illness" just screamed the horror of this situation: Kira killed them, L and Watari both.

Roger looked at the web page again reading every detail. He knew who this was; the names of the students were not concealed when this little Canadian boy with choppy hair and baggy clothes first came to Wammy's House.

Quillish took a shine to him for some reason; Roger never wanted to turn his back on him. The records from that incompetent institution in Edmonton, one that was later shut down by the province for overmedicating children, said he had Aspberger's Syndrome. Roger gradually came to the conclusion that was from his own planning. Autistic children were never this manipulative; Liam Lawliet knew he benefited from looking weak.

Quillish Wammy wasn't easily manipulated, though he seemed to have a respect for those who could easily sway others. A lingering instinct from his military days maybe where the best spies were his friends and collateral.

Regardless he took this lad right under his wing and made him his own project; he was always tinkering with something even if it was human lives.

The end of the story would be Quillish and his protégé dying together; one at a time that could be called the rightful end of his life, the other cut down prematurely. Maybe both of them wanted it this way.

Roger positioned his elbows in front of the keyboard, dropping the phone to the side. A fine mess this was, he thought with a heaving sigh. His eyes trailed again to the countdown.

23d09h38m20s

The countdown was a fail safe. If Watari and L were actually in hiding or had befallen an incident they could pull themselves from they could stop the countdown. Even with all the announcements and obituaries, this countdown could still be halted and Watari and L could still make their presences known.

It was a fool's hope, but one Roger felt he had for some bizarre reason. When the numbers counted down to zero, that was the end.

He made himself fold the phone closed and put it back in his pocket. Clinging to this foolishness was unhealthy. Reality was on the screen in front of him; the obituary of a young man likely written by surviving relatives who were grabbing at whatever information he chose to give them.

Roger couldn't help but pity them; losing a relative was difficult, though losing a sibling had to be a nightmare no matter how scarce he was and how much he lied to them. He couldn't imagine losing a sibling and getting all information from a carefully orchestrated protocol. No, this would benefit them in the end; they were told what they needed to hear.

He read over the obituary again, probably for the fifth time. His wake was today, the funeral scheduled for tomorrow in an old church. It was probably a lingering memory from childhood; L seemed more cerebral than spiritual, though some people could be surprising.

For some reason, the idea of sending a donation was a bit more tempting. There were always ways to do things without gaining undue attention.


	12. Part 12

**The One Alias**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata, and Viz Media. I don't own them; I'm just examining their possibilities.

Author's note: Prayers used for the funeral come from "The Order for the Burial of the Dead (Laymen)" from "Service Book" translated by Isabell Hapgood and appearing on the Orthodox Information Center's website. I do not have much knowledge of Orthodox liturgy, any corrections given in a constructive way are welcome.

**Part 12**

**November 13, 2004**

**Nisku, Alberta**

The small brass censer dipped into the coffin and a heavy cloud of white smoke drifted over his form, bouncing off his folded hands clasped with two Tootsie Pops under a brass cross, over the black blazer and seeping into his mildly controlled black hair.

It was an Orthodox tradition; the censer purified the deceased. The smoke wafted over Liam a it had wafted over Mom…20 years ago was it? How easily time was forgotten.

Mom had almost looked like she was on fire for a second, though the smoke would clear to reveal her peaceful face and body clad in the only dress she ever owned; a turquoise dress she picked up at a second-hand store eons ago thinking it would be good to have on hand.

Dad put hands on their shoulders, resting his weight on his left hip and his twisted right foot to put arms around all three kids, one of which wept more openly at the sight.

"It's okay, it's just God's perfume," he whispered to them. "Mommy always liked perfume."

That scared little girl and the quiet older boy were now adults sitting in the front pew with candles in their hands, watching the same billow of incense waft over their younger brother as they watched it go over their mother, then their father. The tune of the haunting prayers coming back to them note for note and word for word.

They were too used to it by now, but it would never get any easier; the knife made one more deep wound, the pain was real, the scars would last, though they had felt this before.

Perhaps the cut was keener; watching the funeral of one they first saw as children in a hospital bassinet. The one who was suddenly gone from the hallway after they were done giving interviews to the police six years from then, the one who showed up just as suddenly in front of them on a sidewalk four years ago from this moment.

The scarcest person in their lives was either the most beloved or the most forgotten, though each likely had their own answer they would have to live with at this moment. After a total of a decade in their lives, there would be no more reunions with their brother; just one final homecoming and one final goodbye.

Those huge eyes would be forever closed, a gangly young man with wild hair frozen in this moment. This would be their final image of him.

Alonzo didn't need to give his girls such reassurances when the smoke billowed over Uncle Liam. They simply stood between their parents almost poised; prayer books in hands and faces respectively somber like two little Sunday school angels.

"Blessed is our God always, now, and ever, and unto ages of ages," the head priest sang, a four part harmony of Amen's following.

His billowing black robes, white cassock, and long gray beard made him look like he stepped out of a cathedral in Moscow. The hint of his accent through the singing prayers gave more of an impression that he stepped off a logging truck in the Northern Rockies. It was only too appropriate.

Such was the beauty of Orthodox funerals. A funeral in the Orthodox Church could be a two-hour long affair; one mournful drone of English and Slavonic melding into one sacred tune.

There would be no eulogies based on incomplete memories and pithy philosophies on life and death from those who never knew the deceased even if they shared his DNA. There would be a moment in that seemingly endless stream of hymns when all the facades lowered, the posing relaxed, the stone wall would crumble down for the entire congregation, and true realizations would start to set in.

Other cultures would chant for hours, others would meditate, some would sit in sackcloth and contemplate their grief for days, this one used stream after stream of "Glory to God" and "Now and ever" sung in a melodic dirge. The intention was proper prayer and purification, though the result would be the same.

"Furthermore we pray for the repose of the soul of the servant of God departed this life, Liam; and that thou wilt pardon all his sins both voluntary and involuntary."

Sharona and Alonzo stood side-by-side at the same pew in the front; the surviving siblings standing strong in front of all as they sang prayers over their dead little brother. Prayer books were in their hands though they were looking up more often than not. They had practically memorized the hymns by now and recited them from memory.

Half a meter of space sat between them; Alonzo's wife and daughters taking his right side, Dave Sayers taking Sharona's left side. Anne and Pat flanked Alonzo in the pew behind them, but Sharona would look back and see them readying to comfort her if she needed it.

Margaret would occasionally lean over to gently rub her husband's back, though he didn't seem to notice. Sharona would lean into Dave's arm once before both bodies crept apart. The space between the siblings would grow smaller by centimeters every ten minutes.

Gradually, the girls' heads bowed down. Angelic faces would grow redder, eyes going from book to the open casket and producing tears. The novelty wore off and reality set into their little minds. Uncle Liam wasn't sleeping, Uncle Liam wasn't a unique sight, Uncle Liam was gone; that was that.

Kasey's book sagged, the weight eventually too much for her little shaking hands to bear. It fell on the floor with a muted thump, drawing her mother's attention and a few glances from around the congregation. A tear-streaked face buried into Margaret's navy blue dress and a reassuring arm went around her. One hand kept her own candle in her hand and the other went around her daughter's shoulder. Amanda's tears started falling, looking over at her sister made them fall freer. At last her father's arm protectively wrapped around her, inviting her to bury herself in his embrace.

Auntie Sharona switched the candle to another hand and scooted over to reach her free hand out to the girls. That arm gradually fell to the side, Alonzo's hand wrapping around hers. A little while later arms touched, heads went to shoulders, tears softly streaked down.

Such was the sight all over the congregation.

Danny Rodriguez' thick white beard was soaked with tears, Jessie Rodriguez put a muscular arm around him and patted hair. The former Megan McCafferty dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Edith Riley kept her face in her hand while she read from the book, not wanting to make a scene.

Gus Harrison read the prayers, frequently rubbing his eyes with the back of his cuff. He frequently looked up at the little boy he gave cocoa to while hearing his soft voice talk about prints in the mud leaving soils not common to the area. He would remember seeing that kid as a 22-year-old man dropping by for a visit to make peace with the past. He would have no idea that a 15-year-old version of that same quiet voice was the one speaking to him from behind voice filters about a diamond mine collapse in Northern Manitoba that resulted from foul play.

An hour of prayers and Psalms passed, though time in itself was meaningless. The true theme was the shaking candle flames, the building tears, the hands across shoulders, the sympathetic glances, the eyes that eventually locked on the open casket; the sight of a young man who was a little kid once they all wanted to protect. He became a man and fell away from their protection.

They had no idea…except one person.

One man in a proper and likely expensive black suit who now read from the book while stealing glances at the body of the man he had been taught to idolize, whatever that truly meant in the end.

Travis Wells looked sick. He bit his lower lip like a nervous little kid, staring at the man in the casket between looking down at his book and continuing with the service with the proper airs.

He had been to Orthodox funerals before, he knew the routine. He had been to many funerals of many different creeds and traditions; such was the norm with being such a high-paid and in-demand solicitor. It was only respectful to go to the funerals of those whose wills he prepared, show he was a compassionate lawyer. It also seemed to soften the blow of telling the family Gram left her £5 million to her corgi and dad left only his sympathies.

Nothing would top the difficulty of this situation, that fact was non-negotiable.

What exactly was going through Travis' mind only Travis knew but he was having a harder and harder time hiding his vexation. His mask of somber sympathy was peeling off though no one else would understand what was underneath it.

He was the only one who knew every piece of news delivered to the grief-stricken family standing in the front pew before now and from now on would be a grand lie in some form. They would never know who their brother, their uncle, their brother-in-law, their old neighbor truly was. Travis couldn't allow himself the audacity that he knew either. No one in that room did nor would they ever.

Travis' reality was also that of Kasey and Amanda and likely every tear-streaked face and grave expression. This was real, though that wasn't little Liam Lawliet in that casket, that was the Great Detective L.

That was L lying dead.

The thought now carried a peaceful sadness; no guilt, no remorse, such was the way things turned out. The legend carried more weight now.

That was L, seemingly untouchable, mercurial, miraculous, omniscient now a dressed-up corpse. The great L was now exposed in front of mere mortals as an emaciated, pale, unkempt man 25 years alive and eight days dead.

L, the World's Greatest Detective who was renowned for solving thousands of cases and who directly took on the modern world's most notorious serial killer was now a lifeless corpse.

This was the true moment of L's defeat; the moment of prayers and blessings for him to go into whatever the next life was away from the world he served. This was the moment before the casket would be closed and his remains delivered into a hole in the earth.

The great detective was dead. The case was unsolved, in a legal sense anyway.

Kira's reign would continue unchecked until the successors were activated. Light Yagami would take L's title and millions would be doomed.

Woe to the world that this man is dead; only darkness and death could follow afterwards.

That was one truly disturbing thought but that was the nature of things as well. L was no longer there to right the world; someone else had to do it or else it had to right itself.

That was unimportant to everyone here right now. What mattered was what they saw before them no matter how much of the story they would ever have. L's true legacy would be those who were with him as he was laid to rest regardless of what name was in those prayers and what name was on that stone.

"Give eternal rest in blessed repose, O Lord, to the soul of thy servant, Liam, departed this life, and make his memory to be eternal."

The first notes of the call for the Last Kiss then echoed through the priest's deep, comforting voice

The rest of the words seemed to meld into one long note of a soothing voice and wrap around this motley congregation. More people were looking at the coffin, though more gazes were resolute and unflinching. It was as if a wave of peace had come over the sparse number here. They had their peace at the moment, though more would be had or never achieved.

The priest's hands gently clasped the lip of the casket. He reached in, his lips pressing against the cross in his hands. He probably smelled blue raspberry sugar too, maybe this job was a little sweeter in a literal way.

It was almost flattering this many people were here; such was what all people were supposed to want when they finally shuffled off the proverbial mortal coil. L wasn't like other people by any means, though the sentiment resonated somehow.

Maybe he was more like other humans; maybe he had his own desire to be in the presence of those he had some interest in.

Perhaps that was why he lingered over the proceedings, taking a seat in the back row, spectral knees up to his spectral chest and still nibbling on the tip of his thumb like he would in physical form. He could already feel those old habits slipping, though the pull of complete Nothingness was far from strong.

Maybe it was due to unfinished business, or perhaps death required more of a transition period than he was given.

"..this my spiritual child, Liam, is absolved, through me, unworthy though I be, from all things wherein, as mortal, he hath sinned against God, whether in word, or deed, or thought, and with all his senses, whether voluntarily or involuntarily."

It must have been near the end of the service. The priest was at the Prayer of Absolution already.

L couldn't help but smile at the irony. Perhaps these words of pompous ceremony held some weight in the universe. Maybe he didn't care, or maybe he cared that they would bring comfort to those of his blood left behind. Somehow he liked for them to have this little bit of insurance, though he did not want to admit why. No matter what they would find out, they would know his soul was safe or at least be comforted with the thought.

The priest dipped the censer again into the coffin. More white smoke billowed out, the smell of rose and cedar with bitter frankincense growing stronger through the church. The priest then took what looked like a small brush, dipping it in what was likely holy water, and spattering it over the body. L hadn't really cared to research the particulars about this service for some deep-rooted reason. The robed deacons and laypeople moved the candles from around the coffin, clearing the area.

Sharona and Alonzo parted, taking visible deep breaths in some last attempt at composure. The line stood up and started shuffling out of the pew in a line. Dave stood to the side, letting Sharona and Alonzo go out first. He put a hand out and let Margaret go out with the kids, giving him a grateful smile and exchanging a nod.

The surviving siblings walked ahead separate, though free hands soon found each other. They walked on a determined path to the coffin; eyes red and streaked with tears, though faces in an accepting smile. They walked up to the coffin looking as if they were prepared to say their true final goodbyes.

At last they stopped and gazed into the casket. All three of them would still be in this church together; Sharona and Alonzo would savor this final moment together with their little brother.

A few more tears streaked down Alonzo's cheek though he was smiling. He leaned in and kissed Liam on the forehead, drawing back up and moving aside for Sharona. Sharona put a free hand through his hair, gazing at him. She was ready for this. She leaned into the coffin and kissed his cheek.

One lingering look and the two sibling turned their gazes to the other members of the family. Kasey and Amanda came before the coffin together, faces still red.

"You can just say goodbye, or you can kiss the cross or kiss him on the cheek," their mother whispered. "Whatever you feel comfortable doing."

They looked up at her, then at each other nodding in near unison. They turned back to their uncle, leaned into the casket, and kissed his forehead together. They quickly drew back, Margaret put her free hand on Kasey's shoulder and leaned her hip against Amanda. Tears filled their eyes as the took one last look at Uncle Liam.

Alonzo put his arms around Amanda and Sharona embraced Kasey; a moment savored by all. All eyes were on them; the remaining members of the Lawliet family together in mourning, or rather celebration.

Margaret put a respectful kiss on the cross across his hands before moving aside. Dave hesitated for a moment, but gave the same kiss to the cross.

They moved away, taking their procession toward the door and making room for the rest of the line.

The few rows cleared the same way, taking a line to the casket. Each one leaned in and gave their own kisses; most on the cross, others on his cheek or forehead.

Mrs. Riley planted a moist kiss on his cheek, patting his shoulder. Megan put a light kiss on his forehead. The Rodriguez' kissed him on both cheeks. Gus Harrison gazed at him, tousling his hair like he did in 1986 to try to calm down a shaking child. Harrison smiled, perhaps glad to see him looking so peaceful. He clutched one shoulder with his free hand and kissed his forehead, giving him a good-natured pat and walking away.

Travis Wells kept his poise in the line, though his legs were dragging like a schoolboy's. At last he stood before the body of his distant idol, or perhaps his torturer. He gazed inside the casket for a moment, that stiff British demeanor and overall emotional awkwardness rendering him gob smacked for a moment.

At last he bent down and gave a quick peck to the cross in his hand. He looked like he would snap back upright, though he lingered for a few seconds. L's official mourner had to look suitably invested, though a legitimate sense of loss crossed his features for a moment. His gait returned upright, his right hand making to cross himself: accidentally starting at the left shoulder but rapidly correcting himself from the Anglican cross to the Orthodox one starting from the right shoulder. His thumb slipped in to do the proper position and the motion was appropriately wide. He had better have known proper form; the children of Wammy's House were trained to remember such basic customs.

The line processed through. At last, the priest gently grabbed the top of the casket. Eyes studied the man inside, getting one last lingering look before he would be gone from their sight forever.

At last the lid slowly came down, the shadow casting over Liam Lawliet's body like the end of sunset. Darkness fell completely, the dark mahogany eclipsed his face, and covered it forever.

"O Holy God, Holy Mighty, Glory, now, and ever."

L floated from his seat, taking steps like air to the front of the church, then to the wall. He passed through, the cloud-coated sunlight felt natural though it would have stung his mortal eyes.

Bare feet felt cool grass, or what cool grass felt like in his memory. It had been a week and already he felt like such things would soon not matter.

He shuffled forward, seeing the frame inside the open grave near the back of the cemetery. He paused, not wanting to look at the stone yet for fear of ruining a surprise.

Slavonic hymns caught his ear joined with the low clang of the church bell. The bells were particularly loud today.

The back doors of the church were now open. The procession was now on the ground and moving toward the grave. A layperson with a large cross stood in front with the priest behind him, the chorus, the deacons, and the small yet significant party.

Alonzo was among those helping to wheel the casket down the lawn. Alonzo stood at the front, Harrison took the side. Interestingly, Dave Sayers was in back, likely representing Sharona as the pallbearer duty was a male one in this tradition. Travis Wells, looking even more ill and awkward, was pushing across from him. He was the only one who had really worked with Liam in England, the one who escorted his remains, the one who notified his family. It was appropriate yet somehow comically ironic.

The deceased was rather light, so four would be all that was needed. The choices seemed random, probably decided right before the service. L smiled a little wider: what a motley band of pallbearers.

The line reached its destination, the priest coming to the front of the grave with the others fanned out. The pallbearers pushed the casket onto the frame, the spray of multi-colored flowers settled on top; tiger lilies, lupines, chrysanthemums, carnations, a whole array.

The priest reached into the earth and picked up a handful of soil, throwing it across the coffin in a cross formation.

"The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof: the round world, and they that dwell therein."

The ashes from the censer were in his hand next and across the coffin, oil soon following.

"With the souls of the righteous dead, give rest, O Savior, to the soul of thy servant, preserving it unto the life of blessedness which is with thee, O thou who lovest mankind.

In the place of thy rest, O Lord, where all thy Saints repose, give rest, also, to the soul of thy servant: for thou only lovest mankind."

Sharona and Alonzo put arms around each others waists; Sharona dabbed her eyes with a fresh tissue. Alonzo's eyes were puffy and red. Kasey and Amanda held each other, tear-streaked cheeks rubbing against each other as they mother wrapped her arms around them both.

The rest of the group watched in rapt solemnity, holding their respective jackets around them against the northern autumn air and the overall creeping chill of the occasion.

"Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Thou art the God who descended into hell, and loosed the bonds of the captives: Do thou give rest, also, to the soul of thy servant. Now, and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen. O Virgin alone Pure and Undefiled, who without seed didst bring forth God, pray thou unto him that his soul may be saved."

The songs floated into the air. The priest closed his book, though the echoes lingered.

Lay people turned the crank, slowly lowering the coffin into the ground. Sharona pulled Alonzo in closer, eyes fixed on their little brother's coffin as it sunk down.

The casket was at last in the earth, the small, black marble headstone fully revealed:

Liam Lawliet

Born: October 31, 1979

Died: November 5, 2004

Beloved son, brother, and uncle.

Arms wrapped around each others bodies, faces burying in shoulders. They stood still, savoring the moment of complete comfort in each others arms as the church bell let off a few more mournful rings.

Sharona's eyes opened and suddenly widened at the sight of a slender young man in a white shirt and blue jeans staring at the grave. He looked up at her, smiled, and started walking away.

He stopped and looked up, feeling the deep chime through his incorporeal form. The toning of the bell was calling him to his new home; though he didn't plan on vanishing forever. He smiled and simply faded from view.

She clutched her brother tighter, tears flowing freely and sobs muffled by his beige trenchcoat. Alonzo stroked her back, his own tears flowing.

"We're not alone, Sharona," Alonzo whispered through a sob. "We have each other, we have our family, and there are so many others. That's all that matters, Sharona; that's all that matters."


End file.
